Alchemical Reactions
by Mirror Behind the Wall
Summary: AU Left on the Dursleys' doorstep, Harry is kidnapped by Moody and taken to a better home. However, misfortune follows him wherever he goes and he is soon at an orphanage, ostracized and alone...that is, until he's adopted by Nicholas Flame.  On hiatus
1. A Fractured Childhood

**Disclaimer**: If only, if only… I simply _wish_ could own Harry Potter, but alas, Rowling beat me to the punch! It's all hers, ALL hers. Not mine, sadly . Also, any of the names mentioned in the story that are not related to Harry Potter are not people I actually know or heard of—so any similarities are pure coincidence.

**Au****thor's Note:** _Well, here it is; a completely AU story, begun from the Dursleys' very doorstep! I'm not exactly new to writing fan fiction, but the last time I wrote something it was a long time ago... Anyways, enjoy! Update information can be found in my profile. _

**Thank you** to my friend and beta gold09 for editing this story!

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter One**

**A Fractured Childhood**

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was not one to ignore his superior's orders, nor was he one to commonly hide in bushes spying upon people. This was a common misconception, generated by his years as an Auror. In fact, when left alone Moody tended to avoid others as much as possible and therefore had no orders to follow and no bushes to hide in. However, when he did find an order to be not to his liking, he tended to spy in bushes and plot to foil said plan.

Which is how he came to find himself crouched in a batch of prickly bushes, observing the events occurring at Number Four Privet Drive. He was too experienced to believe that none of the three—Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid—weren't aware of his presence in the bushes, but he figured that they all thought that Moody was there to make sure things went well. It was, in fact, the opposite, and Moody had already arranged plans to be far out of the country when Dumbledore discovered his actions—seeing as Moody wished to kidnap the Boy-Who-Lived.

The boy in question was sleeping quietly in a bundle of blankets, already positioned on the doorstep with a letter set beside him. Moody snorted in derision at Dumbledore's tactics. Introducing a family to its newest member by placing it in their way wasn't the best start for little Harry Potter. Of course Dumbledore meant well… but, as they say, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.' Moody knew what the right thing to do was, and he was going to do it regardless of Dumbledore's wishes.

He was going to kidnap Harry Potter.

Of course, Moody wouldn't be the one raising him. Oh, no. That would be a disaster. The kid would end up just as scarred as he was in weeks. Moody was going to send him to a very special friend of his; one that he hoped would do a better job. If not…he could at least be comforted by the thought that he would do a better job than Dumbledore in taking care of Potter.

The roar of Hagrid's motorbike and two pops of Apparation—one noticeably louder than the other—alerted Moody that the Hogwarts' staff had left, leaving him alone on the silent street with only a child of one for company.

Moody and Harry traveled for several days throughout the United Kingdom, in an effort to avoid any pursuers looking for the missing Boy-Who-Lived. He needn't have bothered, as Dumbledore had felt that the matter had been dealt with after leaving the letter for the Dursleys and did not bother checking to see if the Dursleys had actually received his 'gift.'

* * *

Three weeks after kidnapping Harry found Moody standing in front of a middle-class house in Dorset, carrying the baby that had caused him no end of trouble in his arms—no one had ever considered that an Auror needed basic training in how to take care of babies. The house belonged to his life-long friend, Bertram Ackwood, and his wife Jane, a childless and aging Muggle couple. Moody had known Bertram since they were children, neither knowing that one would turn out to be a wizard and go off to learn magic while the other remained behind, wishing he could share in his best friend's life. 

It was with great trepidation that Moody knocked on the Ackwoods' door, not knowing how welcome he would be. He hadn't spoken with Bert in years and he worried that Bert would resent him for that. He was cut out of his musings when the door opened, streaming light out onto the darkened street and providing a glimpse of a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

"Alastor," said the man standing at the door in surprise. His greying hair was rumpled and a pair of glasses had been jammed onto his face haphazardly, as if he had just woken. He blinked once, then twice, staring at Moody and his various disfigurements in obvious confusion, and invited him in.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," said Moody in an uncharacteristic display of guilt. It was then that he realized just how much aging affected the Muggle body—he was the same age as the man before him, yet he did not find himself ailed with anything other than grey hair and the injuries he had sustained in his work against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"No worries," replied Bert. "I was simply getting a bit too comfortable while reading by book." He lead Moody into the sitting room, grabbing a bottle of brandy for the cabinet and pouring two glasses, as he took his seat in a large comfy armchair beside a roaring fire and placed one of the glasses in Moody's free hand. He removed a stack of newspaper from another armchair and gestured for Moody to take a seat, who did so. "What brings you here, old friend?" he asked, taking a small sip of the golden brandy.

"I need your help," replied Moody, noting that he hadn't said those words in years. "I've saddled myself with something that I can't quite handle." Moody knew he shouldn't be lying, he knew that it was unethical…yet, he didn't want Bert to know that he had planned on dropping Harry into his lap.

"Does it have anything to do with that baby in your arms?" Bert asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't go and impregnate some poor girl, did you?" he smiled at the last, indicating it was a joke.

"I'm afraid it wasn't as pleasant as that," Moody replied. He sighed, and began to explain the events leading up to that fateful night in October. Bertram was what the Ministry liked to call an 'informed Muggle' and as such Moody explained _all_ the details, including magic.

By the time Moody finished, both glasses had been drained of brandy and refilled. Bertram was staring into his glass, ignoring it in favour of his thoughts. Moody took another sip of brandy, before asking, "I haven't seen Jane yet tonight. Is she in bed?"

Bertram jerked up so suddenly that the brandy slopped against the sides of the glass and nearly spilt all over the floor. "Jane's dead," he said bitterly.

Moody didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"Unless you were driving the car that killed her, you have nothing to be sorry for," replied Bert, though his eyes roamed over Moody's scarred and battered body in obvious resentment. Moody suddenly knew he wasn't wanted—and Harry probably wasn't either. Bertram clearly held much anger over Jane's death, multiplied by the fact that Moody was sitting in front of him, able to cure a dying person with little-to-no effort.

An awkward silence followed the news of Jane's death, before Moody realized that he had imposed enough upon his friend. "I just figured I'd check up on you, then," he said, rising to his feet.

"Sit, Alastor," Bert said sharply, looking into his friend's one good eye. "You said you came here because you needed help. What do you need?"

Before the news of Jane's death, Moody had planned to leave Harry with Bert. Bert probably knew that too. Instead of asking Bert to take Harry in, however, he said, "It's Harry here." He gestured towards the sleeping baby cradled in his left arm. "He's got no parents and no living relatives. I can't take him in—I wouldn't be any good."

"So why did you come to me then? Isn't he one of your sort?"

"He is," replied Moody, "but he's rather famous in my world and would be better off living in this one. I came to ask if you knew of anyone who could possibly take him in."

"Let me think," Bert replied. Moody sipped the remainder of the brandy he had left in his cup, which he had set down on the coffee table in his attempt to leave.

It was only a few minutes later when Bert let Moody know of a prospective foster home for Harry. The two chatted a bit longer, catching up. It was with a heavy heart that Moody left his old friend's home, knowing that the chances of seeing him again were slim to none.

* * *

"…and you have all the paperwork?" Doctor Cameron Mallory could barely contain her excitement. "I can really have a son?" she asked, still in disbelief. While she had initially balked at inviting the strange man carrying the baby into her home, the name of her patient Bertram Ackwood had allowed the odd man entrance into her home. Imagine her surprise when he offered her custody of what she wanted most in the world—a child! 

"Yes, of course," Moody replied, quickly conjuring some paperwork in his rucksack with all the information necessary. "There _is_ one thing you should know about him though."

"What's that? Can't be anything worse than no living relatives, can it?" Cameron could feel the balloon of happiness that had been swelling in her chest begin to recede, as her mind invented thousands of complications that a one-year old baby could have.

"Well…that depends on your perspective," Moody replied. He was about to let a Muggle in on magic, something that really couldn't be helped given the circumstances. He had naturally put a patch over his eye to cover its magical origins, as he had been wary of allowing the Muggle to see it. Bert _had_ said that she knew how to keep a secret—the laws on doctor-patient confidentiality had seen to that—but, in the case of rejection…it was best not to Obliviate unless unnecessary. "Tell me, Doctor. What do you know of magic?"

"Magic?" asked Cameron, completely taken aback. Her eyes widened in surprise, before she exclaimed, "Oh! He's a wizard then, yeah? My brother's one—still keeps in touch with the family, though I haven't seen him in a few years. Nothing to worry about—I grew up with that little miscreant."

It was Moody's turn to act surprised. He chuckled. "Well, that simplifies things quite a bit. Has your brother ever mentioned to you the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' by any chance?" Moody spent roughly half an hour explaining to her just what it meant to be raising the famous baby who had defeated Voldemort, but Cameron did not lose any of her previous excitement.

"You're sure you're alright taking him in?" Moody asked, hoping the positive feeling he got from this woman was a good one.

"Of course! Little tyke needs a home," she said, caressing Harry's hair gently. She had taken the baby from Moody quite a time before, and Harry had taken to her like a fish to water.

"And you won't have any trouble looking after him? I know you work full days—"

"Oh, it's no trouble. My sister and I live together, and she works at home most days. He should be fine."

"Alright then," conceded Moody, handing her the paperwork. "I'll probably drop by every so often to make sure everything's okay." Moody knew he was promising more than Dumbledore had ever had and made sure that once this business was over and done with, he'd give the man a long lecture on the proper care of children. And the man ran a school for children! It was appalling. _Dumbledore, my friend. You're getting nearly too old for your job..._

* * *

Cameron spent the first few months with Harry in absolute bliss. She had taken time off from her private practice to allow for a period of adjustment, and as much as she loved her job, taking care of Harry was just as rewarding for her. The child was a delight, very rarely crying or acting upset. He enjoyed walking around the apartment, exploring the various objects and asking 'what's this?' in the slurred voice of a young child. Cameron found his curiosity refreshing and charming, as did most of her friends. 

Cameron and Harry lived relatively happy lives together. Margaret moved out when Harry was three, going to find an office job, leaving Cameron no choice but to place Harry in nursery school under the name Harry Mallory; she felt so strongly about his place in their small family. Harry bloomed in nursery, playing and learning with kids his own age, only to return home chatting constantly about everything he had done that day. His teachers reported that he was a happy child that fit in well with others and progressed at normal rate for his age.

* * *

It was a rainy day in October, clouds looming overhead and thunder booming every few minutes. Harry, now in primary school, had seen off all the other students with his teacher Mrs. Horsfall, and it was just the two of them waiting for what he believed to be his 'mother.' 

"I can walk home, you know, ma'am," he said politely to his teacher after waiting another half an hour. "I only live around the corner."

"No," she replied sternly. "The weather is terrible, and you'll not be walking home in it."

"Yes ma'am," Harry said, falling silent. Another fifteen minutes passed, in which Mrs. Horsfall grew increasingly worried and Harry increasingly bored.

"Your mother's never failed to turn up on time…" she mumbled to herself, before digging up the records to find the contact numbers. She picked up the phone, before dialling one of the numbers under Harry Mallory's name. The answering machine picked up—as she had called the apartment—and she sighed, before hanging up. She turned to the next number on the list, Dr. Mallory's work number.

"This is the Mallory and Lockwood Private Medical Practice, how may I help you?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Hi, I'm looking for Dr. Mallory. She hasn't picked up her son from nursery yet and we've been waiting quite a while…"

"That's odd," the secretary's voice, bland earlier, now sounded of concern. "She left nearly an hour and a half ago. Maybe she's been caught in traffic?"

"I hope so. Thank you."

"No problem," replied the secretary. Mrs. Horsfall hung up.

Mrs. Horsfall knew there was something wrong now—Dr. Mallory's practice was only two blocks away. She looked back at her list of contact numbers, and called the only emergency one listed; Margaret Mallory.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other line.

"Hi, Ms. Mallory?" asked Mrs. Horsfall in obvious relief.

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"This is Jane Horsfall—I'm your nephew's teacher. Dr. Mallory hasn't showed up to pick him up yet—"

"What? That's so unlike her."

"I know. I was wondering if you knew anything. I called her office, but they said she'd left an hour ago."

Margaret's voice was filled with concern, as she replied "I haven't heard from her either. I'll come by to pick Harry up, though."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Horsfall.

"I'll be there in about ten minutes," Margaret replied, before hanging up.

* * *

There was a message waiting on the answering machine in Margaret's apartment when she arrived home with Harry. Margaret played the two messages waiting—one from her boyfriend and the other from the hospital. She dropped her mug of tea, sending it to the floor with a crash as the answering replayed the news of a car accident—stating that her sister was in critical condition and the hospital where she was staying. 

By the time Harry and Margaret arrived at the hospital—barely a quarter of an hour later—Cameron had been declared dead.

Harry couldn't stop asking what had happened to his 'Mummy' and Margaret hadn't been able to stop crying. She didn't know how to tell her 'nephew' that Cameron was dead, nor did she know how to look after him. When she had regained some semblance of control, Margaret called Child Services, and they placed Harry in an orphanage until a proper home could be found, under the name of 'Harry Potter.'

The orphanage wasn't very well funded by the government, leaving Harry and all the children there near poverty despite the many donations given to the orphanage. Harry, however, was only at the orphanage until December, when he was adopted. He lived with the Lowrys for nearly four months, before they took him back to the orphanage, citing that he was 'strange' and 'weird things occurred around him.' Still, despite this record of being 'odd,' Harry was adopted again, his adorable face allowing many potential foster home owners to fall in love with him. It only took this couple three weeks to send him back to the orphanage, explaining that he was an odd and abnormal child, and far out of there ability to handle. Harry couldn't understand why he kept getting sent back to the orphanage, and eventually, after being moved from foster home to orphanage four times, he decided that he'd make sure that he was sent back because of something he actually did. Harry set out to be as violent and resistant to authority as possible, getting into fights at the various schools he attended, and generally misbehaving. Now, he was returning to the orphanage with black-eyes, broken arms, and a reputation for being trouble, and he was adopted less often.

* * *

At the age of nine, Harry Potter had seen more homes than half of the children in the orphanage combined. The children saw him as the symbol for what their lives could turn out to be, and therefore ostracized him as much as possible. Harry kept to himself, mostly, reading the various books that had been donated to the orphanage or swinging on the swings in the play ground nearby. He hadn't been to a foster home in nearly a year now, after the last time he had been sent back with a dislocated shoulder and a twisted ankle from fighting at school. He wasn't particularly violent at the orphanage—only a few incidents when the other children had decided that he was slightly odder than the sort of person they wanted around them—and he had always come out in better shape after those. He did, however, manage to receive a black eye monthly, in case anyone wishing to adopt him came by. 

He had grown resigned to the fact that he would be in the orphanage until he reached the age of majority, a conclusion he didn't like, but it was better than being thrown away over and over again. He liked consistency in his life, which he had lacked up until this point. While life at the orphanage wasn't the best, it wasn't as bad as seeing the looks of fear and hatred on the faces of his adopters.

On a day in late December, Harry could be found reading on his bed as he usually did when it was too cold to go out and read in the sunshine. The snow had piled high outside, uncharacteristically for Dorset, and most of the children were trapped inside and getting a little antsy. One of the other boys had begun to poke Harry with his pen, to the amusement of the other boys, though Harry just ignored him; he knew very well how to deal with the other children now, and ignoring was best.

It was to this general atmosphere in which Mrs. Newport and an old man arrived into the boys' dorm. They walked all the way up to Harry's bed, causing the other boys who had been previously laughing at Harry to scuttle away. "This is him," Mrs. Newport said, smiling politely.

"It is indeed," said the old man, peering intently at Harry, especially at Harry's scar. His hazel eyes were searching as he turned his gaze to Harry's, who stared back at him defiantly. _No!_ Harry exclaimed inwardly. _Not another one. And I was just getting used to it here too…Should have gotten into a fight with some of the other boys last week—that was stupid. I'll make sure he sends me home before New Years, though. He looks like he couldn't handle a rowdy child, being so old and all._ Harry smirked, while the old man just gave him a kindly smile.

"His record notwithstanding, I'd like him to come home with me," he said to Mrs. Newport.

"If you're sure, then," she said to the man, before turning to Harry. "Come, boy. You're going home with Mr. Flamel."


	2. Seeing is Not Always Believing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the lovely, brilliant, amazing, brilliant, genius, brilliant work of literature that JK Rowling has written. I also don't own Tylenol, Advil, or Aspirin. Nicholas Flamel too—not even JKR owns him: he was a real-live alchemist. The name Fanchon, while not taken from anyone I know in real life, was taken from a book called _A Spell for Chameleon_ by Piers Anthony (a good read, by the way!), so I don't own that either.

**Author's Note:** _Thanks so much for the lovely reviews last chapter! I appreciated each and everyone—trust me; they help motivate me to write. Enjoy the chapter!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Two **

**Seeing is Not Always Believing**

"Bloody Flamels," Harry said, kicking his dresser. He had been sent to 'his' room for pulling down some paintings in the Flamel home. "Bloody manor." He kicked again. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, for he had kicked once more and stubbed his toe.

It had been a month since Harry had arrived at the Flamel Manor in Manchester, and he hated ever minute of it. His goal of returning to the orphanage by New Year's had not been met, and Harry found himself resenting the Flamels even more for causing him to fail where he hadn't failed before. _Maybe I'm out of practice?_ Harry thought to himself. _It _has_ been a year, after all_. He knew this probably wasn't the case, however. He had tried every trick he knew, and then some. Minus, of course, what had caused the reports of 'abnormalities' and 'odd occurrences.' _I shouldn't… I daren't…or do I? _ he debated with himself. He knew it was a bad idea as it tended to get a bit out of hand…but the Flamels were possibly the most resistant out of all his foster 'parents.' _If I'm not out of here by the beginning of March,_ he told himself, _I'll do it._ He hoped that he would be.

Unfortunately for Harry, he seemed to be fated to release what he considered to be his 'abnormality.' He tried everything he could: he kicked and screamed, once getting Nicholas Flamel in the family jewels, to little effect; he stayed silent for a whole week, refusing to say a word; he trashed his room; he stole Perenelle Flamel's unmentionables—all to no avail. The Flamels, aging as they were, seemed to want to keep him quite badly.

_Why the hell do they want to keep a bratty kid like me?_ Harry thought to himself, one night in late February. He knew what he was going to have to do to get himself out of the Flamels' and he didn't like it one bit. The next time he was allowed out of his isolation…

The Flamels allowed him out of his room the very next day, as Harry hadn't done anything _too_ bad recently to cause a long stay in his room. He was lead down to breakfast by the Flamels' odd-looking butler, who rarely spoke and did not react to the nasty glares that Harry so often threw at him. The butler left him in the kitchen, where a bowl of porridge and a glass of juice awaited him. Harry glared at both, taking all of the frustration that had piled up in the last few months and _pushing_ it into both.

The bowl and glass shattered, spraying shards of glass, ceramic pieces, orange juice and globs of porridge everywhere. The glass table he had been sitting at began to shake, before fracturing and fragmenting into pieces. Harry screamed as the glass cut him, spinning around him in a deadly whirlwind. Other objects from the kitchen joined the fray, the clatter and bang of pots accompanying the shattering sounds of glass and Harry's screams in a horrifying symphony of destruction.

**Several Hours Earlier…**

"I hate keeping him locked up like that, Nick," said Perenelle Flamel to her husband in a brief fit of sympathy for the child they had adopted.

"I know you hate it, but you also agree that he needs to learn discipline," replied Nicholas, sighing. His aging eyes studied the Pensieve they had set up to monitor Harry and his reactions. "Besides, he's only doing this because he _thinks_ he isn't wanted. I'm waiting for him to use his magic—I bet he only acts up so that he gets returned to the orphanage for the usual reasons instead of odd ones."

"Dear," sighed Perenelle, "I know that you're hoping that he does something of the sort…but, well, what if he doesn't? He really could be just the average misbehaving child."

"I don't think so," Nick said, shaking his head. "I'm almost certain he's used his magic before. Besides, he was rather quiet when I saw him at the orphanage through that peephole that the owner keeps. He just sat there, reading."

They had had this discussion numerous of times already, yet Nicholas was not willing to give in to Perenelle's wishes to return Harry to where he wished to be. Nicholas was _sure_ that Harry was desperate enough to use magic now, as he had been there two months and hadn't come up with anything destructive enough since he had stolen all of Perenelle's personal belongings. The poor boy hadn't realized that his desperation to escape from their care was only rooted in the fact that he was rejected so often—he needed to learn that no matter what he did he would not be sent back to the orphanage. A terrible habit to develop and Harry needed to learn otherwise.

After several more hours of watching, long after Perenelle had left—citing the need for fresh air—Nicholas called Teppy, the house-elf, into his room. "Teppy," he said to the house-elf kindly. "I'd like you to escort Harry out of his room. I'm going to be putting a charm on you to make you look like a human, so you don't speak to Harry unless necessary. Okay?"

"Yes master," replied Teppy, nodding eagerly. Nicholas cast the charm on Teppy and told him he could go, before turning to the Pensieve where he watched Teppy's appearance in Harry's room.

Nicholas loved his alterations to the Pensieve. It worked much like a Muggle video camera, recording what was happening wherever he placed a certain spell. It had taken him years to work out, until he had figured out that as long as he kept in a small time delay, it was quite possible to have as a fully functioning security system. Of course, one needed money and a large selection of Pensieves…but the idea was sound.

Nicholas switched his view from the Pensieve of Harry's room to the corridor as Teppy lead Harry on his way the kitchen. He chuckled at Harry's expression, amused at such a menacing glare in a nine year old. Teppy left Harry alone in the kitchen as he had been instructed to do and Nicholas watched with a growing certainty that Harry would use his magic purposefully in the moments to come. A smug grin appeared on his face as Harry's glass began to crack, but it quickly faded as he saw the results of Harry's frustration form into something that could kill Harry himself.

Harry awoke in a room that smelt strongly of antiseptic. He knew immediately where he was—he had been in a hospital before. Still, he kept his eyes closed, wary. The last time he had ended up in hospital, a police officer had been talking about pressing charges against him while he thought he was asleep, or getting him to go seek 'help.' It was this forewarning that had let him escape any time sitting with a child psychologist who would moan about his troubled childhood.

"…had to reattach his finger! Mr. Flamel, what on_earth_ were you thinking when you left a magically violent child alone in a room full of knives and glass?" exclaimed a lady in a harsh tone.

Magically violent? Reattach a finger? Harry didn't dare wiggle his fingers, but he was sure that they were all there…were they? And magic? _Is that what I have, _he thought to himself, astounded, _magic? Magic doesn't exist…_he thought derisively. Then his memories of what he had done in the Flamel's kitchen flooded back to him, and he was stumped as to how else to explain it. _So maybe I _do _have magic…or whatever it is. _

"I didn't realize that he'd be that violent," replied the voice that Harry recognized as Flamel's. Stupid old geezer. "I suppose I should have expected something like that, though. He _has_ been rather uncooperative with the adoption process. I am sorry, Healer Fanchon."

"Next time, keep a better eye on him. Children should not have to have their fingers reattached and their eyeballs re-grown."

_Eyeballs REGROWN? _Harry nearly gave away that he was awake at that. _My eyeballs had to be…re-grown? That is so...wicked!_ Like many young boys, Harry had a fascination with the strange, abnormal, and disgusting.

Harry could hear footsteps approaching his bed. He slowed his breathing as the two pairs of feet approached, calming it from the unexpected announcement of re-grown eyeballs.

"Stop pretending to be asleep, Mr. Potter," a stern voice said from above his head. Harry heard the rustling of cloth, indicating that Healer Fanchon was moving around. He didn't open his eyes.

"Be that way, then," she huffed. "I'll leave the explaining to Mr. Flamel. Just don't act so surprised when you actually open your eyes." Despite her words, Harry mulishly refused to open his eyes, challenging her reverse psychology techniques. "Fine, you stubborn boy," she harrumphed, before stomping out of the room.

There was silence for a few minutes before Harry heard Nicholas clear his throat and begin to speak. "You know that the monitor shows you're awake. You're really quite a stubborn child," he chuckled.

It was then that Harry gave up his pretext of sleeping, and instead opened his eyes to glare at Nicholas. He wasn't expecting the flood of colours that accompanied it though. Harry let out a loud expletive, as the pain from the darkness of his closed eyelids replaced too quickly by strong, vibrant, bright lights overwhelmed him and he had to close his eyes again. A pair of footsteps hurriedly entered the room, and Harry sat up to face where the door would presumably be.

"I told you so, Mr. Potter. You and Mr. Flamel," the Healer from earlier sighed. "Never have I met two more stubborn, pig-headed people in my whole life."

"What the hell did you do to my eyes?" Harry demanded, wincing as a headache began to develop.

"We re-grew them after your accidental magic mishap. Your glasses shattered with the rest of the breakable objects in the Flamel's kitchen, completely destroying them. The good news is that you'll never need glasses again. The bad news is that Mr. Flamel here insisted that we add he charms to see magic, the obstinate old man that he is. Unfortunately, there are some adverse affects until you get used to them."

Harry nearly said the words 'magic doesn't exist'in response to her explanation, but instead held his tongue, remembering that his eyeballs had indeed been re-grown. Unless…

"This is some elaborate trick you're playing, Mr. Flamel," Harry said accusingly. "If you think it's going to make me feel better and want to _live_ with you and your wife, you're quite wrong. I was better off at the orphanage."

Surprisingly, Nicholas laughed. "This isn't a trick, Harry. Magic is real. You're a wizard. Well, a wizard with no training, but still. It's why most of your foster homes got rid of you; they were afraid of the accidental magic you produced while scared or in great need of something."

"Uh-huh," said Harry sceptically.

"Open your eyes, Mr. Potter," Healer Fanchon said.

"No," Harry replied defiantly. "You'll just turn on those crazy lights again and make my headache worse." It was really getting bad now, building up behind his eyes and pulsing.

"I shall be creating a curtain of magic around your bed," she replied. "It should be the only thing you'll see, except for the magic within Mr. Flamel and me, perhaps a spot or too on your bed."

Harry opened his eyes. Instead of the blinding lights of earlier, he could see a shimmering blue-grey glow surrounding the bed, looking almost like a holographic curtain. He looked to his right—the Healer beside him contained a fierce yellow glow, burning Harry's retinas. He instead turned his head to his left, where Mr. Flamel sat, a vibrant purple emanating from inside him.

"What _is_ that?" he asked in wonder, ignoring his earlier reluctance.

"That, Harry, is magic," replied Mr. Flamel.

"Okay, so how do I turn it off?"

The people-shaped blurs of yellow and purple turned to each other, paused, the turned back to Harry. "You, well, don't," replied the Healer uncertainly.

"I can't turn it off?" Harry asked disbelieving. "I have to be like this for the rest of my life?"

"It's a trial procedure. We don't usually do it—nor have we ever performed it on a child before." She glared at Nicholas. "We rarely get anyone in here who's lost an eye, or both. However, your guardian _insisted_ upon the procedure…so now you've got magic eyes."

"Gee, thanks," Harry said, sarcastically, glaring at the purple glow to his left.

"It's not all bad. You can dim the magic so it's almost not there, but that takes a few days for your body to adjust to. The magic has to merge with your own, allowing you better control."

"Brilliant." Harry winced as his headache worsened. "Now, could someone _please_ explain to me what the hell this magic stuff is about? _And_ why Mr. Flamel didn't tell me about it when I came to live with him?"

Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I figured you'd need time to adjust. Perenelle and I didn't realize you'd be so violent. So I figured we'd wait until you performed accidental magic—much more believable and a good way for you to work off stress."

"So instead I have to have a finger re-grown, numerous injuries repaired, and my bleeding _eyes_ re-grown?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well…I didn't expect such a violent outburst. You have incredibly strong magic, Harry."

"So? I've lived without magic my whole life—I don't _need_ magic, if all it does is give you violent headaches," Harry remarked bitterly, saying the words just to get a reaction. He was disappointed, however, as Healer Fanchon immediately began fussing over him.

"You have a headache, Mr. Potter? Why did you not inform me?" Healer Fanchon said, thrusting a goblet from which a sickly green glow was radiating into his hands. "Drink this."

"What the hell is this? No Tylenol, Aspirin, Advil?" Harry asked, looking doubtfully at the churning liquid.

"What on earth are those?" Healer Fanchon asked, sounding quite confused. This was the first time Harry had found the Healer less than knowledgeable.

"Muggle medicine," replied Nicholas. "Has a similar affect to pain-killing potions."

"Muggle?" Harry asked, sniffing the goblet distrustfully.

"Non-magic. Drink up," replied the Healer.

Harry sighed, doing as he was told and grimacing at the taste. His headache vanished immediately. He looked at the goblet in wonder. "That's…that's amazing!" he exclaimed. "Can anyone learn to make this?"

"Yes, Harry," replied Nicholas. "With enough training, magic can do anything."

"Anything at all?" An idea was forming at the back of Harry's mind, barely acknowledged for now and left to brew.

"Anything."

"When can I start learning?" he asked, eagerly. The Healer and Nicholas exchanged glances, dubious of Harry's motives after such a quick change of attitude. "What?" he said, sounding insulted. "I'm not allowed to want to learn about a talent I have?"

"No, I suppose you are," replied Nicholas, looking hesitantly at his charge.

There were a few seconds of silence, before Harry asked again, "When do I begin?"

"At age eleven, of course," replied the Healer promptly. "At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Two years?" Harry exclaimed, chagrined. "I have to wait two _whole_ years?"

"Well…" the Healer said hesitantly.

"You'll begin right away, Harry. You're not going to Hogwarts," Mr. Flamel said, looking intently at the young boy before him. He saw a thirst for knowledge in Harry's newly fashioned eyes, one that he had similarly held when he was a boy. He knew he couldn't allow Harry to attend Hogwarts. Dumbledore would take advantage of him far too easily.

Nicholas and Dumbledore had a long history, not all of it good. Nicholas had worked with Dumbledore briefly on discovering the twelve uses of dragon blood, but Dumbledore had liked to interfere a tad too much in Nicholas's private life that he had liked. They had argued about it, and were now on 'polite' terms with each other, though neither really got along. Perenelle had hypothesized that perhaps it had something to do with there only being so much room for powerful wizards in the world that they clashed a tad too much to get along well…but that was just a theory. Recently, Dumbledore had been insisting that Nicholas hide the Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts—some gibberish about Voldemort's eminent return and other such nonsense.

Privately, Nicholas thought that Dumbledore was a tad too power hungry. Usually very well meaning, but the Philosopher's Stone was quite safe where it currently was, and there was no need to put the responsibility of looking after it on someone else's shoulders. Dumbledore just wanted to be in control of the situation, as usual. Nicholas would _not_ allow that to happen with Harry. Not if he could avoid it.

Nicholas was broken from his musings by the shocked voice of the Healer. "He's not going to Hogwarts?" she asked, astounded.

"No, he shall not. I'm a more than adequate teacher and Perenelle is no slouch when it comes to knowledge either."

"I'll be learning from you? After all I did?" Harry asked, suddenly suspicious.

"It's expected, considering what you've gone through," Nicholas replied gently. "Besides, it's a lot easier to learn in an environment suited exactly to your needs. A lot easier to teach, too."

"So… I'll be learning magic then?"

"Yes, Harry."

"And other things? Will I learn about my parents?"

"Of course. In fact, I shouldn't be so surprised that you haven't heard the story of your parents' deaths before. You _did_ grow up without magic, after all."

Nicholas began to explain Harry's history to him, as the Healer quietly made her exit and left to the two to bond. A shiver ran up her spine as she watched the two talk intently—one boy of nine, one ancient man in the middle of his sixth century of life. Fanchon knew that she had partaken in something monumental, something that would probably affect the world for decades to come. In what way, however, she was not sure.

_For good or for ill,_ she thought to herself, _that boy's going to be the catalyst for much change in the lives of everyday witches and wizards._


	3. The Mad Hunt for Harry Potter

**Disclaimer:**I wish I wish upon a fish—upon a fish I wish I wish…that I owned Harry Potter, except that since fishes can't grant wishes I clearly _don't_ own it, and therefore all credit goes to the brilliant JK Rowling.

**Author's Note:**_ Thanks so much for the reviews! I loved all of them grin . Hope this chapter isn't too dull… we've gone back several years here. _

_Just a heads-up about the genre of this story—it is AU, though I admit to not having read many stories where Harry is raised by someone else (__All at Once__ by Aurilia and __Saving Connor__ by Lightning on the Wave are the only two I can recall reading, both very good!). Therefore, all of the ideas I'm expressing her are for the most part my own, and I don't intend to copy anyone else's idea of Harry growing up differently. I know that there are a lot of them out there, but I really don't intend for this to be anything like it. If I have taken someone else's idea, it's likely pure coincidence and I'm quite sorry. Though, I've never read one where Harry was taken in by the Flamels…_

_Oh, and if no one's picked up the pattern yet, I'll be updating once a week, every 5-7 days or so, or at least that's my goal. So far, I've been more or less meeting it. So…enjoy!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Three**

**The Mad Hunt for Harry Potter**

_November, 1981_

When Arabella Figg was asked to move from her small home in Brighton to a small house in Little Whinging, she jumped at the chance. Her busy neighbourhood in Brighton held no love for a 'crazy old cat lady' as they called her, and she had wanted to move for years. Unfortunately, she had only a small income and moving was unthinkable at the time. When Albus Dumbledore had offered her a steady income simply for keeping an eye on a house in the neighbourhood _and_ the chance to move, she knew that her days as a grocer were over. She packed up the shop, put her cats in carriers, and packed up her house. Two days later the moving van drove off, followed by a rundown car, never to see Brighton again.

Arabella's assignment involved ensuring that the neighbourhood gossips would gossip to her, and to potentially befriend a member of the target's household. It had been convenient for Arabella to be the batty old cat lady in Brighton, but now she knew she couldn't appear to be the same. So, she developed the undercover story of being a cat breeder, knowing that no one would look too closely at the number of cats she had in her home, and if anyone asked for a kitten, she could easily get one through a friend of hers up in Manchester. So, she set up shop as the sympathetic ear of the neighbourhood, eventually drawing in the various housewives who came for a cup of tea, a listening ear, and to complain about the various mundane woes of their lives.

Arabella had been in Little Whinging for months, but she had yet to approach the Dursleys. She didn't want to seem too nosey, and only took a glance at Number Four Privet Drive when she passed by the house every morning on her daily walk. The Dursleys appeared to be the most disliked family in the neighbourhood—something that didn't bode well for Harry, but she knew that Dumbledore had chosen them for a reason. It wasn't her place to question his decisions.

It took Arabella nearly six months, but eventually she had integrated herself in the neighbourhood as a well-meaning, slight dotty old lady. Parents trusted her to watch their children, as she did every so often when they went out or away. It was in late May when Petunia Dursley approached her and requested that she look after her son Dudley while she and Vernon went to a company event. Arabella did not display her glee at accepting this job—instead she took Petunia in for a cup of tea and allowed her to rant about what a terror Dudley was. No mention of one Harry Potter was made.

It was then that Arabella began forming suspicions and theories in the back of her mind. None of the neighbours—each of whom she had talked to at some point in the past several months—had mentioned a second child living with the Dursleys. From this Arabella surmised that several possibilities had occurred. The least likely was that the Dursleys hadn't received Harry after all, seeing as they should have been given the child by Dumbledore himself. This turned her speculations towards more sinister things. Perhaps the child was being kept out of the public by the Dursleys. She had heard of their fear of abnormality. Worse, what if they were abusing him? Or had sent him from their home entirely? Did they give him away to an orphanage, or just shove him in the hands of some stranger? But, no…she was jumping to conclusions. Petunia had been rather decent so far, if a little full of herself at first. Perhaps the boy had simply been more affected by the Killing Curse than anticipated and had some sort of mental trauma?

On the night that Arabella minded Dudley Dursley, she took great pains to investigate the household after she had put the troublesome child to bed. There was no sign another child even lived there—no pictures (though she supposed he hadn't been with them long enough for that), no extra bed anywhere, not even an extra set of shoes by the door or in any other place where they would rationally and perhaps even irrationally be. She knew that her suspicions were confirmed and Harry Potter was not where he should be. She had to contact Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore was busy on most days. A normal morning consisted of paperwork concerning the school. A normal afternoon consisted of paperwork concerning the Wizengamot. A normal evening consisted of miscellaneous things—usually consisting of paperwork. However, this wasn't a normal evening.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed with pleasure as he sunk down into his desk chair. The cushioning charms had been renewed recently, and he was in absolute bliss as he finally allowed himself to relax. He had finished all his paperwork fro the day, held an Order meeting that had confirmed the disappearance of most of the Death Eaters for a long period of time now, and had given his phoenix Fawkes all the attention he deserved. Dumbledore summoneda decent muggle mystery book off his shelf, and began to relax, caught up completely in the fiction that the book represented. 

He had just gotten to one of the many climatic and suspenseful moments of the book, when the fire flared. He cursed, pulling his legs down from their resting position on his desk and shoving the muggle book into a drawer. The peace and quiet had been nice, but apparently now he had to get back to work. Arabella Figg's head appeared in the fireplace, her face lined with concern.

"Arabella," said Dumbledore in acknowledgement. "How are you?"

"Ablus, something's happened to Potter!" she cried, ignoring any pleasantries and jumping straight to the point. "He's not with the Dursleys at all!"

"WHAT?" exclaimed Dumbledore, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Tell me everything."

"I finally got an in with Petunia Dursley—she asked me to mind her son, Dudley for her. She didn't mention Potter when she asked, nor did the neighbours when I talked to them in the past. I explored the house as I was minding Dudley, and there was no sign that another child even lived there—not even a cot in that small space under the stairs, if they were disinclined towards their nephew! I don't want to have to say this, Albus, but I think they might have done something to him. Perhaps they sent him to an orphanage or something, but he's not there."

Albus sighed, leaning back in his chair. "This is not good news. I'll send over Severus to interrogate the Muggles tomorrow. For now, Arabella, relax. We'll figure this out." He rubbed his temples with his fingers, gently massaging as he felt a headache building. The child was gone…and he had no idea where he was. His monitoring instruments hadn't even reacted. "Thank you," he said to Arabella, dismissing her. She left, the fire flaring green once more before dying down to embers, leaving Albus to his thoughts.

He knew that his mind was racing, that it was predicting every possible negative outcome, and so Albus shoved a Lemon Drop in his mouth to calm himself. Even without the mild calming draught he had placed in it he would have calmed down for that lovely sweet and sour taste. His mind stopped racing, and he quickly ordered his thoughts.

The Boy-Who-Lived was missing, that was the most important point. While there hadn't been Death Eater activity for months now, Albus knew that he was still in danger from Death Eaters, which was why he wanted to find the boy as quickly as possible. That was step one—finding the boy before Death Eaters would found him first. Step two was ensuring that it wasn't the Dursleys that had cast him from their home, though Albus did consider it a possibility. If they had, step three was to find Harry another home. If they had to find another home, step three would be to place Harry back at the Dursleys, and putting more in-depth security measures and perhaps to check up on him a bit more often. Of course…if they didn't succeed in step one Dumbledore didn't know what they'd do. If they couldn't find him it left two possibilities: the Death Eaters took him, which is why they were laying so low, or Harry was untraceable wherever he was and therefore neither Dumbledore nor the Death Eaters would be able to find him. Dumbledore certainly hoped that the latter was the case, if they couldn't find him.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. He hoped that Severus would be able to find some clues at the Dursleys…otherwise he had no idea where he would start on this mad hunt for Harry Potter.

* * *

Severus Snape scowled at the Muggle neighbourhood as he walked out down the street. The Potter brat wasn't even at Hogwarts yet and he was already causing trouble. He had been working on a delicate potion, and to be called away for _this_ was an absolute insult. Oh, he knew it was because the Headmaster valued his Legilimency skills, yet, it was quite annoying. He was the Headmaster's puppet in all but name. 

He approached Number Four, Privet Drive quickly, all the while sneering at the absolute normality and conformity that the neighbourhood consisted of. He ran the doorbell, leaning up against a post with casual nonchalance. He was dressed in a muggle suit, carrying a seemingly heavy briefcase to give the appearance of a businessman.

The doorbell was answer seconds later by a woman who looked quite a bit like a horse. Severus looked her up and down, restraining himself from sneering at the typical appearance of a house-wife.

"Yes?" she asked, almost snootily. Severus forced himself to be polite.

"Mrs. Dursley?" he asked.

"Yes?" she said again, more curious now.

"I'm here on behalf of Little Whinging. We're looking for model homes to display in our annual catalogue, and your home was one of the lucky few chosen." He nearly sneered at his own words, but kept the charade advised by Dumbledore in place.

Petunia appeared flustered. "Oh, come on in then," she said, leading him into the uncannily clean home. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you," he said, waiting for her to close the door. The second he heard it click shut he pulled out his wand. "_Legilimens!_" he cast. She didn't even have a moment to realize what he was doing when he was in her mind.

He sneered at her mundane thoughts, delving through them like they were no more than air. He searched for her memories of Harry Potter, and found none, only an intense hatred directed at Lily and James Potter. She did not even know of their fate. Perplexed, Severus called up her memories of the morning of November first of the previous year, and found nothing. She had gone about her daily routine and taken the milk bottles from the front step as usual, made breakfast, and taken care of her son. Nothing unusual at all. He checked her memories of the night before—she had been awake most of the night, as her husband had been restless, but neither of them had gone outside and she had been the first awake that morning.

The Dursleys had never received Potter.

* * *

Dumbledore received Severus's news with the appearance of calm while his mind was panicking. He had been so _sure_ that the Potions Professor would find something, but he hadn't. He resigned himself into calling in Alastor Moody, to question him. He had, after all, been watching over the boy for the majority of that evening. 

Of course, he hadn't spoken to Alastor in a while. For some odd reason he had ceased attendingOrder meetings, citing that he had some familial issues to deal with, despite Albus's knowledge that the Moody family was for the most part dead, except for his sister. Perhaps she was ill? Albus prepared himself to face a slightly-less-rational Moody—as he was quite defensive of his frail sister—when he stuck his head in the fire.

There was no answer. Moody had set up a security system, so that anyone coming through the fireplace could only see a brick wall unless he was there. Albus sighed in frustration and exasperation at the man's paranoia, and returned to his office. He sent a letter off with Fawkes, hoping that the paranoid old man would not attack the phoenix before he even got the message.

He knew that contacting Moody probably wasn't as important as he felt it should be—after all, if anyone had tried to kidnap the boy, then Alastor would have stopped whoever it was in a heartbeat. Then where had Harry Potter gone?

It was later that evening when Fawkes arrived in his office, the letter he had sent to Alastor still in his talons. Albus removed it with a sigh, and Fawkes let out a sad trill. He had not been able to find Moody. Dumbledore checked the instruments monitoring Harry's health once more and found him to be in good condition, before heading off to bed. There wasn't much more he could do now.

* * *

A week later Dumbledore held an Order meeting. Considering how recent the last had been, most members feared that Death Eater activity. Instead, they were confronted with a tamer puzzle. 

"Albus, why are we here?" asked Dedalus Diggle, after all the usual pleasantries had been gone through. "I've heard no reports of Death Eater activity in a while now."

"It's not the Death Eaters," Dumbledore replied. "Something far less sinister, or so I hope." The Order let out an unconscious sigh of relief at those words.

"What is it then?" asked Minerva McGonagall.

"Harry Potter has gone missing. His relatives never even received him." Gasps of shock and alarm were heard around the table. "I do not think he is in the hands of the Death Eaters, otherwise they would have been gloating, but he is certainly not in any location we know of. I'd like to ask all of you to take a few hours a week to look for the boy. If we have no progress by this time next year, I'll be calling off the search."

Exclamations were heard around the table. "Whatever for?" asked Elphias Dodge. "Shouldn't we keep looking for him as long as possible?"

"If we can't find him in a year, we can presume that no one else can. That means the Death Eaters too. My monitors suggest he is safe, so there is no need to hurry the search unless his condition suddenly worsens, and the worst case scenario is that we wait until he receives his Hogwarts letter to figure out where he's been."

"But that's years away, Albus!" exclaimed Minerva, shocked at his lax attitude.

"I know, Minerva. However, our chances of finding him are quite slim and it is pointless to waste our resources. If, however, we haven't had a single lead by December, I shall ask Nicholas Flamel to involve himself."

"Nicholas Flamel?" gasped one member.

"Yes, though he may not be too agreeable. We shall see."

With that, Dumbledore dismissed the Order, knowing that he had done what he could to begin the hunt for Harry Potter, and that only time would tell. Or perhaps a development of an instrument that could track Harry alone? Dumbledore walked away from the meeting, contemplating the many ways to find the elusive Harry Potter.

He didn't dare let his mind even think about his machinations surrounding the boy, nor the fact that if the year went up he'd still continue to look for him. He did not want to reveal any of his plans surrounding the boy, for it could ruin them all. He just hoped that Harry would be just as malleable to his will as he would have been left with the Dursleys. And that Alastor hadn't interfered. He didn't want to have to hurt his old friend…but the signs were pointing to more interference than he liked.

* * *

Three days later found Dumbledore discussing loyalty with Alastor Moody, as Moody had returned home to find that he had been paid a visit while out. Alastor, the Auror most feared by Death Eaters and Order members alike, found himself afraid of Dumbledore's wrath as the man attempted to interrogate him. Dumbledore did not succeed in finding anything about Harry's location, and so Alastor was allowed to leave, promising to cut off all communication from Dumbledore due to his actions towards him, Albus's long-time friend. It was betrayal of the worst sort, and Alastor fervently hoped that Harry had been worth it.

* * *

**A/N:**_For those of you who don't know, child minding is what they call babysitting in the UK. I'm not British, but I'm trying to insert as many Briticisms as possible._

_I know that there appear to be a few inconsistencies in Dumbledore. That's _on purpose_, I assure you._

_ Correction Sept 22 07: Child minding is only child minding if in the North of England if done by a professional (as in someone who makes a living by child minding) and babysitting is used when referring to someone doing it as a favour (those who do it for pocket money, like a teenager). Thanks to _Tisiphone Nemesis _for this information!_

_R&R!_


	4. Mastering Magic for Beginners

**Disclaimer:** Ha. Yeah right. Me, own Harry Potter? That's absurd. You ought to be locked up in an asylum for even considering the possibility!

**Author's Note: **_Thanks for all the brilliant reviews! It seems that they spurred me on to write this chapter, which is a lot earlier than planned—lucky for you. I'd like to address the issue of __Dumbledore's Character.__ Frankly, I could never make Dumbledore completely evil, after sobbing at his death in Half-Blood Prince. However, he will remain slightly misguided and perhaps a bit more sinister until a particular situation comes to light—and that's all I'm saying about him. He's not exactly evil, but he's not exactly good either. How's that for cryptic? So all you Manipulative Dumbledore lovers will get your fill, but all you Dumbledore (the good sort) lovers can also be assured that he isn't completely evil or manipulative. I don't think I could do that to him…_

_Anyways, enjoy this chapter! As always, R&R! _

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Four**

**Mastering Magic for Beginners**

Despite Harry's natural inclination to distrust the intentions of the Flamels, he quickly learned that this was not in his best interests. His eyes had been acting up and only Perenelle Flamel's pain-killing potions and a few lessons in magical control taught him how to manage the input from his magically altered eyes. It took him two weeks to learn how to dim the sight of magic to a point where he could only see a flicker or two, both weeks spent in a muggle hotel, as the Flamel's home had initially overwhelmed him.

Magic was real. That was the fact that Harry had so much trouble adjusting to. It just didn't make sense; it didn't go with the laws of the universe. Light appearing from nowhere, flying, changing the form of objects with a word…it just didn't add up with Harry's basic knowledge of physics and the laws that governed his world. It meant that those laws didn't apply, which in turn meant that anything was possible. Anything.

It was absolutely mind boggling. To give a select group of human beings the power to do whatever they wanted…he was surprised that most weren't completely corrupt. He had been taught history, of course, but it hadn't been enough for him at the time and he had furthered his own knowledge by borrowing a wide variety of history books from the library. It had been absolutely fascinating, but Harry had noticed the rather obvious pattern that most that were put in power tended to abuse it. Giving humans supernatural abilities…well, he could see why the witch hunts had occurred. Though those had been religious fanatics…

Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed Nicholas Flamel approaching. He and Harry had come to an agreement, a truce, per say. Harry's thirst for knowledge and curiosity had caused him to break the barrier of rebellious silence that he had maintained before he had woken up in St. Mungo's. Now, there was so much to learn, so much to do, and many, _many_ questions. Nicholas couldn't help but find Harry's sudden willingness to talk to him amusing.

"Harry?" he said, letting his student know that he was in the library with him. Harry had already begun learning, though it had only been two months since the incident, and he was going at quite a fast pace. Nicholas had completely skipped the theoretical aspects to see how Harry would do without them, and found that without the restrictions that the theory placed on its learners, Harry could do quite a bit more than the average wizard. Or perhaps that was just because he was Harry Potter; Nicholas wasn't one hundred percent sure.

"Yes, Mr. Flamel?" Harry asked politely, restraining his natural impulse to call the man an old interfering geezer and be done with it. The urge had been less common than usual, but he had been enjoying his book.

"I've decided that we're holding our lesson in here for today," said Nicholas, as Harry nodded. He pulled up a chair across from the table that Harry sat at, surrounded by a stack of books. He scanned the titles, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he saw that his charge was reading books such as _Historically Inaccurate_, _Magic from a Muggle's View_, _Physics versus Magic: Which One Controls the Other?_, and _The Nature of Magic_. Harry closed the book which he had been reading, _Mastering Magic for Beginners_, and turned his attention towards his teacher.

Instead of beginning the lesson, Nicholas said, "You've been quite busy here, Harry. Found anything interesting?"

"Plenty of it's interesting, sir," he said noncommittally.

Nicholas nodded, as if waiting for Harry to carry on. When he didn't, Nicholas continued. "I've decided that now that you know the basics of magic, we'll be having one lesson three times a week in which we study anything that catches your interest." In fact, Harry now knew enough to pass the practical aspects of many of the first year classes at Hogwarts, and likely pass the theoretical aspects simply through all the questions he had been asking—though several key points had been omitted, most had been covered by Harry's inquisitive mind.

"Anything?" Harry asked. "Anything at all?"

"Yes, Harry," replied Mr. Flamel.

"Alright then. Could I learn how to cast magic without a wand?" Harry had been contemplating this for a while now. While he performed his magic in his lessons with his wand, he had come to the conclusion that it was unnecessary. After all, he had been doing magic on purpose for years now, so why should having a wand change the fact that he could do it without one?

"And what makes you think it possible?" Nicholas asked, instead of responding to Harry's question. He wanted the boy to think. He wasn't at all surprised about Harry's choice. After all, the boy had a natural inclination towards using his magic outside the box.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, it's kind of obvious that you can use magic without a wand. One, I've see _you_ doing it all the time." Nicholas just inclined his head, indicating for Harry to continue. "Two, I've been doing it accidentally and sometimes on purpose my whole life. True, it hasn't done exactly what I wanted to like what happens when I use a wand, but the fact that I can indeed do stuff without a wand implies that I can control it to a degree. And considering the fact that you yourself don't use a wand, it means it's possible."

"Then I shall teach you," Nicholas responded. "First, though, could you please detail all the times that you can remember using magic—whether on purpose or not?"

"Well there was the incident two months ago. That was on purpose. Before that… I didn't do it so much at the orphanage. I didn't want to get sent to the Mental Hospital or anything. They would take any excuse with proof to do that, considering how full the orphanage was. Before that…I used magic at some of my foster homes. I wanted the stubborn ones to get rid of me faster. I occasionally used it at school when bullies decided that they didn't like the new kid—I was always switching schools. I think last year was the only full year I spent at one school. Until you adopted me, that is. When I was growing up with Cameron…I don't quite recall much. I have a vague memory of a stuffed toy floating towards me, though."

"So you more or less used your magic when you really wanted something?" Nicholas inquired, attempting to see what drove Harry's usage of accidental magic.

"Well…I think frustration and anger were a large part of it too. I mean, when I used it at foster homes in the beginning, I didn't realize that my magic was getting me sent back…so when I really wanted something, I got it. After I realized that it was something funny that I was doing…I stopped doing it for a while, unless I was desperate to get out of their home. So I suppose desperation also drove me. At school it was definitely anger, and the need to be left alone. It sometimes got out of control at the orphanage, at the beginning. The older kids tried to pick on me, so I suppose that was self-defence. Oh, and I talked to a snake once, but that wasn't really fuelled by anything," Harry said pensively.

"Snake?" Nicholas asked alarmed. "You conversed with a snake? Did the snake reply?"

"Well, of course it did," Harry said, puzzled at the sudden attention being drawn to the incident. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter right now. We'll deal with it later," Nicholas dismissed the topic as quickly as he had brought it up. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. _What's the old man keeping from me?_ "Were there any other incidents? Or just those?" Nicholas continued, as if they hadn't been interrupted by Harry's feat.

"Well, others, but it's hard to be specific. So, for the most part, that's a general summary."

"Good," Nicholas said. "It wasn't all anger. If your only base for your accidental magic had been your anger, this would be a lot more difficult. It also appears that you do have some level of control, or you know exactly which emotions to trigger to cause your magic to react. I'd like you to attempt to cause some accidental—though I suppose it won't be so accidental anymore, now—in here."

"Here, sir? But what about all your books, the tables?"

"I've spelled the books so that they can't be taken off the shelves by anything but hands," Nicholas said. Harry raised his eyebrow at such an odd spell, and Nicholas smiled. "Several centuries ago a witch with quite a strong summoning spell was in the area, looking for a specific book. She used the Accio Charm on it, and it sped right out of the library into her arms. It took me months to even notice it was missing, let alone find her afterwards to get that damn book back."

"I see," said Harry in acknowledgement. "And the tables?"

"Similar spell. Magic can't move them—I was doing some building by hand and was out of wood. I ended up dragging half the furniture in the house to me by accident, using that accursed Accio Charm again. So go ahead—there's not much harm to be done in this room."

"Alright then," Harry said in acceptance, and he closed his eyes to begin his attempt.

What had fuelled him last time? Desperation, certainly, but he wasn't desperate now. Nor was he angry, frustrated, or really feeling any strong emotions. He just wanted to get back to his book…that was it! His book. He wanted his book. Well, what he really wanted was to get Nicholas out of the room so that he could read his book, despite having asked him for lessons in magic without a wand. It was far too fascinating…

The sound of a door slamming jerked his eyes open in an instant. The library door had slammed shut and Nicholas…Nicholas was no longer sitting beside Harry. Harry grinned, grabbed his book and resumed reading. He could hear furious pounding on the library door, but it didn't budge for whoever was behind it—and Harry strongly suspected it was Nicholas. Harry supposed he could have simply levitated the book over to him, but that would be far too mundane.

It was only a few minutes later when a brief pop was heard by Harrt, and Teppy appeared beside him. Harry had been introduced to the elf properly after discovering magic, and Teppy had taken an odd liking to him.

"Master Potter, sir!" Teppy exclaimed. "Master Flamel is not being too happy with youse. He is telling Teppy to be telling you to let him into the library or he be taking you to see Mistress Flamel," Teppy tugged on his ears, obviously distraught. Perenelle Flamel was the one that took care of punishments now, and she always found the most disgusting things for Harry to do. He had spent a whole day last week mucking out the stables that had magically appeared for using a switching spell on Nicholas's coffee, turning it to soured milk.

"Alright," Harry sighed. He closed the book once more. "Thanks, Teppy."

"No problem, Master Harry, sir!" Teppy replied, before popping away. Harry walked over to the door and yanked it open, revealing an angry and slightly bemused Nicholas Flamel.

"Amused?" he asked, glaring at the insolent child.

"Quite," replied Harry, grinning obscenely. Nicholas scowled, before grabbing his arm and dragging him back to his chair by the desk.

"I see you enjoyed that little act of magic," Nicholas said, disgruntled. "You couldn't have simply levitated the book?"

"I didn't _mean_ to," Harry said, his eyes innocently wide. Nicholas snorted with derision. "Honest. I just wanted to have a little peace and quiet, that's all."

"So I guess you don't want me teaching you then?" Nicholas asked nonchalantly, rising to his feet.

"Don't be obtuse," Harry snapped. "Of course I want to learn. It was simply a very good book."

Nicholas sat once more, peering closely at the nine-year-old in front of him. For the most part, Harry acted a lot older than he was, likely a combination of how he'd grown up and his thirst for learning and reading. Despite his maturity, Harry was still very much a child and Nicholas didn't want to spoil that. He immediately let go of his anger—no matter how mild it had been—about what Harry had done.

"Well, that was quite a successful piece of magic you accomplished," Nicholas said after a momentary pause. "Definitely a step in the right direction. But let's try something a bit more…_purposeful._ How about levitating that book?"

"You said I can't use magic on the books," Harry pointed out.

"No, no," Nicholas said, shaking his head. "Only to remove them from the shelves."

"Oh, alright then," Harry replied. He focused upon the book he had been reading only moments earlier. It was an old book, quite battered looking. The spine had been bent in several places and it was obvious that the cover had seen better days. Many of the pages were dog-eared, and Harry grinned at that. He now had a more challenging goal than simply levitating the book.

Nicholas watched in astonishment as the book raised mere moments after Harry had spoken. It had taken him hours of practicing to do something so simple and controlled…perhaps it was due to Harry's constant usage from a young age? Nicholas felt the burning curiosity about his charge's abilities that signified the need to do another research project. Nicholas's amazement grew as he watched the book's pages turn seemingly of its own accord, turning to a specific dog-eared page. Harry had barely broken out into a sweat. He even floated the book over to himself and began reading.

"Alright, Harry," Nicholas said. "I get it. You want to go back to reading."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, levitating the book lower so that he could look at his teacher.

"I do have a question for you, before I dismiss you," Nicholas stated, ignoring the fact that it was mostly Harry dismissing him.

"I have a question for you too," Harry replied. "But you go first. You're the teacher after all." _Someone's got a sword for a tongue,_ Nicholas thought to himself. _Another defensive mechanism, I suppose. But he just _had_ to point it out that he's in control. Little brat,_ he thought fondly.

"Why, in Merlin's name, did you ask me to teach you magic without a wand when you already know it?"

"I don't, sir," Harry replied.

"Yet, you showed me a near mastery of the skill, both in large scale magic when you Banished me from the room, and in your control floating the book _and_ turning its pages. You don't need me to teach you anything."

"I was just trying to see if I could do it," Harry said, shrugging. "I had no idea I'd get it on the first try or anything. And simply levitating the book was so unfulfilling. What I did to you _was_ accidental though. I just wanted to be alone," he shrugged, then grinned. "I quite liked the result of that."

"Yes, I'm sure you did," Nicholas mumbled. At least Harry had calmed down from what he had been two months earlier and was down to harmless pranks and meaningless jibes. He sat up straighter. "I suppose that instead of teaching you magic without a wand, I shall supervise. I'd appreciate it if you avoided using it as much as possible when you're in a situation where you can be easily distracted. You saw the chaos caused by lack of control. After you don't need to concentrate nearly as much to perform magic in this manner, I don't mind you using it _safely_ and _productively_ as you would if you were carrying a wand."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. Nicholas began to rise from his chair, when Harry stopped him. "What about _my_ question?"

"Right," Nicholas said, sitting down again. He hadn't allowed himself to forget—he just didn't want to discuss it with the boy.

"What was the trouble earlier with me speaking to snakes?" Harry asked, looking Nicholas straight in the eyes.

Nicholas sighed. He had thought that Harry would ask him something else, yet he had been spared for the moment. "It's a talent called Parseltongue, Harry. It's not generally seen as a good thing in the Wizarding World and it proves one of my theories to be correct."

"Well, from what I've read the Wizarding population tends to be quite bigoted," Harry said, annoyed. He had spent a whole week researching magical creatures and had been astounded and angered by the Ministry's ideas of 'dangerous creature' and actions against werewolves, centaurs, and other such intelligent magical beings (not creatures). Nicholas inclined his head in agreement to Harry's statement. "What was your theory?"

"That the night Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at you, a small fragment of what he was entered you, giving you some of his abilities. He was a Parseltongue too, you know. Probably why it's seen as such a Dark Art."

"I see," Harry said neutrally. "And does this mean that I'm likely to become evil and become mad with power or something?"

"No!" Nicholas exclaimed. "Not at all. Everyone has a choice. Or they usually do, unless they've been placed under a strong enchantment," he wasn't about to discuss the Imperius Curse right now. "You have a choice. You can be good, evil, neutral, whatever the hell you want, Harry. But you need to remember that the world isn't all black and white, that sometimes 'good' can act wrongly, and 'evil' can be momentarily moral. It's not a simple choice—it never really is."

Harry simply nodded, and raised the book which had remained floating throughout this discussion higher, so that he was no longer facing Nicholas. Flamel sighed inwardly, before leaving the nine-year-old to his reading, and contemplated beginning a research project on his charge, as soon as possible. It wouldn't be published without consent, obviously, but he enjoyed a good puzzle and the Boy-Who-Lived provided him with quite the intriguing one.


	5. Alleys and Allies

**Disclaimer:**Yeah right. Me, own Harry Potter? You'd know if I did!

**Author's Note:**_Thank you for the amazing reviews last chapter! I'm really glad that you're all enjoying this story. I'm afraid this chapter is a bit filler-ish, but there is a purpose to it, no worries! It's kind of like a snap-shot in time, one of those things I need for character development and interaction, and such, though some important-ish stuff happens (not vital to the plot, but there nonetheless). Enjoy!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Five**

**Alleys and Allies**

"Master Potter, sir. Mistress Flamel is telling Teppy that she be wanting you to be reading to be going to the Wizarding World. Mistress Flamel be waiting in the parlour, Master Potter, sir," Teppy the House-Elf said moments after he had popped into Harry's bedroom. Harry groaned and rolled over in bed, covering his head with a pillow. The House-Elf began shaking him, insisting that he awaken or 'Mistress Flamel' wouldn't be pleased. Half awake now, Harry remembered Perenelle Flamel's punishments for tardiness weren't exactly cruel, but they were quite tedious and annoying, a fact that spurred him out of bed and into the shower in record time.

As the warm water washed over Harry, he contemplated his life now. He had been with the Flamels for about five months since his discovery of magic and the re-growing of his eyes, and he found himself almost liking it. The Flamels tended to leave him alone for the most part, unless it was important or he was in lessons, and he never really got bored. He had no true longing for companionship of his own age, as he had spent the majority of his time in the orphanage and at various foster homes avoiding it, and he generally found himself satisfied with his life.

The Flamels had celebrated his tenth birthday with him only a few weeks earlier, and it had been a quiet affair. It had included a small cake and a gift from the two of them (a gift certificate which he was eagerly awaiting to spend at a wizarding bookshop), a gift from Teppy (which was the cake, really), and a gift from Margaret Mallory (who sent him a gift every year on his birthday and Christmas, though he never even saw her, or really remembered much of her). It was more than he usually got—the orphanage had used to give the children more sweets on their birthdays, or an extra helping of dessert—and he was generally pleased with his home life now.

The days where Harry wished he was back at the orphanage were few and far apart, though dreams of his life with Cameron before the wide variety of foster homes made him wish that he had something more with the Flamels than the simple connection of teacher and student. On the other hand, nightmares of his life at foster homes and the dread that the Flamels would send him back in spite of everything prevented him from connecting with the aging couple on any emotional level aside from the one of teacher and student. Not to mention his nightmares of a flash of green light, a high pitched scream and then _nothing_. That void scared him nearly as much as commitment.

He sighed, stepping out of the warm embrace of the water into that of a rough towel, and began dressing. His clothing was all relatively new—Mrs. Flamel had taken him several weeks ago to get new clothing as most of his clothing was composed of hand-me-downs, so the two had ventured into Muggle London. Harry had, of course, stopped by the book store and grabbed several books to keep him busy. He imagined that today would be much of the same, with the addition of some Wizarding supplies, such as his own scales and cauldron, and wand, of course. Though Harry barely used the hand-me-down wand he had been given (which was fiercely protested by Nicholas Flamel for reasons unknown), it couldn't become public knowledge that a ten-year-old wizard was able to perform feats of magic that even Albus Dumbledore would have trouble doing.

As soon as Harry had finished dressing, he quickly applied some Muggle make-up to hide his scar. He then dashed out of his room and down the long corridor towards the entrance of the manor, passing by many portraits that called out to Harry things like "Slow down!" or "I hope you break your neck running at that speed!" as he passed by. Harry ignored them, only slowing when he reached the door leading to the entrance room of the manor. He paused, caught his breath, and walked in as if he hadn't gone faster than a meandering stroll. Only hair that was messier than usual betrayed the truth of the matter.

"You know," stated Perenelle Flamel, looking her charge up and down as if to find some fault, "Tardiness is not a redeeming quality."

"You didn't tell me we'd be going today," Harry pointed out. If he had known he wouldn't have spent half the night reading a really interesting text on human transfiguration.

"True," Perenelle said calmly. "But there's another quality you possess that is far from flattering," she said, her eyes gleaming with wicked mischief. "Sleeping in late; sloth is not one of the best qualities." Now that the boy wasn't in torment while living with them, Perenelle took great pains to teach Harry proper manners and decorum, and she was a very strict teacher.

Harry simply rolled his eyes at her words. "Alright, can we go now?" he asked impatiently.

"Do you have what you need?" Perenelle asked, referring to his gift certificate and bank key, which the Flamels had kindly asked the goblins for.

"Yes," Harry replied, containing the urge to roll his eyes once more. He barely put up with Mrs. Flamel—she seemed to attempt to find fault in everything he did, whether she said it teasingly or not. She set standards for him that he found to be, for the most part, something just to amuse herself with. He more or less put up with it, considering that Mr. Flamel had detailed how she got every time she sunk her teeth into a project—and she saw teaching him to be a proper young man as a project.

"Fine. I'll go through the fire first—you follow," she said. With that, she turned to the fireplace, threw a handful of floo powder in and watched as it flared to life. Stepping into the warm—but not hot—green flames, she calmly intoned "Diagon Alley" and vanished.

Harry copied her actions, and found himself spinning and whirling, only catching the briefest glimpses of fireplaces and the rooms beyond before being spun away once more, as if he were the debris being carried by a whirlwind. He flew out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron and landed flat on his face, before rising and beginning to cough.

Perenelle Flamel waited for him to finish coughing and wiping the last of the ash from his body (aided by a small charm that Harry used unobtrusively) before indicating for Harry to follow. He did.

Harry had never been to Diagon Alley before. While they had been touring around Muggle London, they had come quite close to the Leaky Cauldron but had never ventured inside. Harry's curiosity about the solely Wizarding street grew as they approached the gateway to the Alley, and he raised his Magical Sight level—for that was what he had chosen to call the spell that had been cast upon his re-grown eyes—and watched in fascination as the brightly coloured spell wove in and out to form the archway leading to the alley.

Harry risked a glance inward, using his raised Magical Sight, and barely contained a wince. It was like looking at the sun—even with his Magical Sight barely in play. He dimmed it to as low as he could, still staring as the magic was still very much visible, though perhaps not as bright. Perenelle, seeing him squinting, made a mental note to tell Nicholas to make sure Harry grew accustomed to the magical intensity of magical areas.

Perenelle lead Harry through Diagon Alley, heading towards a large white building in the distance. Harry could barely keep up with her—he was too busy staring. Despite having been a part of the Wizarding World for five months now, there was a lot that he evidently didn't know. It was so much to take in—the bright glare of Diagon Alley's magic, the garish decorations that permeated themselves throughout the Alley, the stores, the witches and wizards themselves…it was utter chaos to Harry.

They approached the white building that loomed all over the other shops, "Gringotts Bank" as the sign said. Harry tried hard not to stare at the odd looking things that guarded the doors—something about their demeanour made him a touch more wary than usually—and instead he stared at the inscription upon the doors to the bank:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed__  
__Of what awaits the sin of greed,__  
__For those who take, but do not earn,__  
__Must pay most dearly in their turn.__  
__So if you seek beneath our floors__  
__A treasure that was never yours,__  
__Thief, you have been warned, beware__  
__Of finding more than treasure there._

_Sensible,_ Harry thought to himself. _More menacing than Muggle banks, of course, but I'd assume that the guards of this bank are a touch more menacing than Muggles._

"Goblins," Perenelle said in an undertone to Harry, as if she had read his thoughts, as they passed out of earshot of the guards. "They've kept Wizarding money safe for centuries."

Harry nodded, thinking. _I can't believe I never really asked the barmy old man about other intelligent magical beings...I never even entertained the thought. That was stupid of me,_ Harry told himself derisively. _Could have cost me my life, for all I know. I'll have to find a book on it…_

While he had been berating himself for leaving such gaps in his education, Perenelle had approached the nearest goblin teller politely. "I'd like to speak with someone in private, if that's at all possible," she said calmly. The goblin looked at her sharply, before nodding and leading them to an office. Harry followed, not really caring as he knew he didn't have money to his name—this was probably just some Flamel business that she was trying to include him in to make him feel like 'part of the family.'

They were lead into a bureaucratic office that looked no different from the many he had been in while foster parents signed documents either to take him in or renounce their adoption, except for the goblin sitting behind the desk. He looked up from the paperwork he had been scrawling across with a quill and derisively asked, "Yes?"

"I'd like to claim the key to Mr. Harry Potter's vault, please," Mrs. Flamel asked. Harry stared at her, confused. Why on earth would he have a vault?

"And your right to Mr. Potter's vault?" the goblin asked snidely.

"I am his guardian," she replied firmly. "You should have received notification when he was adopted."

"Ah, yes," the goblin said after a moment of shuffling through his papers. "Well, everything seems to be in order then. We just need a brief test from Mr. Potter here to prove his identity."

"Of course," replied Mrs. Flamel.

Harry spoke up for the first time, slightly peeved to be offered up for some 'test' without his knowledge or consent. "And what sort of proof do you need?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "An eye test, a health test, a genetics test, what? Though I suppose the eye test would be slightly difficult, what with them being the way they are," he mused aloud.

The goblin's expression did not change towards Harry's candid remarks, nor did his tone of voice, while Perenelle glared down at her charge. "A simple blood test, Mr. Potter. Just a prick of the finger."

"Oh, alright then," Harry said, and stuck out his hand. "Just discard the blood when you're done with it. I'm sure there are plenty of potions that could be used against me with my blood."

The goblin did not even raise an eyebrow at the paranoid ten-year-old ordering him around. Instead, he pricked Harry's finger, mumbled in Gobbledegook, and said quite calmly, "You can take care of the blood yourself, Mr. Potter."

Harry wiped his finger on a handkerchief Mrs. Flamel passed him, slightly disgruntled. The goblin said a few more words to Perenelle, before handing Harry the key and dismissing them from his office. Harry left without even asking how on earth he'd gotten a vault, and he refused to ask Mrs. Flamel.

Two whirling cart rides later Harry had decided that the contents of his vault were definitely intriguing. He knew that the money had come from his parents, but what on earth had they done in their short lives to be the possessors of such wealth? It was a puzzle that he was determined to find out on his own. After all, it was _his_ past.

"Here," Mrs. Flamel said to Harry, handing him a bag full of coins. "This is your allowance. You can spend it on whatever you deem necessary, and I'll leave you to it, as long as you promise not to go down Knockturn Alley. I've got my own shopping to take care of, and Nicholas said you'd be fine on your own," she said firmly. "We'll meet back at the Leaky Cauldron in two hours." Seeing Harry's look of puzzlement at the coins in the bag, she explained, "The little bronze ones are knuts. There are twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, which are the silver ones. Seventeen sickles to a galleon, the gold ones."

"Alright," Harry nodded.

"Behave," Mrs. Flamel told him sternly. She seemed to believe that little boys were nothing but trouble. "And try not to use magic in public. You don't even look old enough to be at Hogwarts yet, let alone seventeen!"

Harry frowned, but agreed. Personally, he felt that he looked older than his ten years of age, but he hadn't been around enough other children recently to really notice. All he knew was that he looked young enough for anyone to mother him, and that fact along annoyed him more than anything.

Left to his own devices, Harry quickly found his way into the bookstore. It was fairly busy, many of the customers going off to Hogwarts shortly and needing their school books. Harry had no such limitations and instead began searching for any books that held his interest. There were many.

Harry finally exited the shop, twenty books laden in bags and roughly twelve galleons lighter. After all, he didn't know when he'd be allowed another excursion into the Alley and he wanted some more up-to-date books than the ones in the Flamel's library. Shopping done, he decided he'd wander around the Alley to see what was there.

There were a lot of interesting things to see in the Alley, though Harry only really understood the purpose of half the items on sale. Some of things seemed to be really odd—who needed a spinning moon?—but most of the Wizarding folk in the Alley seemed to take it in stride. One shop stopped him in his tracks. Broomsticks.

A wild thought flitted through Harry's head—did witches and wizards _actually_ ride broomsticks as a form of travel? By the price tag on the broom on display, he could see that it was either a very efficient cleaning tool or something akin to a car in the Muggle world. How…clichéd.

"I can't believe Muggle myths were actually right," he said aloud, staring at the broom on display.

"Right about what?" a redheaded boy asked beside him.

Harry shrugged and replied, "Riding broomsticks, of course. I can't believe you lot actually _ride_ them!"

The redhead stared at him incredulously. "Well of course we ride them!"

"But…they're _broomsticks_."

"Well, yeah! What else are you supposed to do with them?" The redhead looked at him as if he were an alien species. A set of redheaded twins exited the broomstick shop and joined in the conversation.

"Clean, I suppose," Harry shrugged.

"Clean?" said one of the twins.

"What on earth has Ickle Ronniekins been telling you?" the other said, smacking "Ronniekins" on the upside of the head.

"I haven't been telling him anything," he grumbled, rubbing his head. "And it's Ron, by the way, not," he shuddered, "Ronniekins."

"Harry," Harry replied. "But why not use a…safer…method of transport?" he directed the question at the twins.

"You're Muggleborn?" one asked.

"Kinda," Harry replied. "Found out I was a Wizard last year."

The twins shared a look. "You haven't heard a thing about Quidditch?"

"Quidditch? Odd word. Do you lot fly around ditches or something?"

"Ditches!" one asked as if offended.

"Us, fly around _ditches_?!" the other said, incredulously.

"It's a sport. A bit like your basketball, except in the air." Another redhead, this one much older, had exited the shop and caught the tail end of the conversation. "And a lot more dangerous."

"I'd imagine," Harry said, staring at the brooms.

"Say, where's your mum? Your dad?" asked the older redhead, suddenly noticing Harry's lack of a parent.

"Er…" Harry said hesitantly. "They're dead. I'm here with my guardian, but she let me wander on my own."

The oldest redhead stared at him dubiously. "She let you go off on your own? Some guardian," he said the last in an undertone. "Well, you can stick with us till you have to go, then. I don't like the idea of a kid running around on his own here."

Harry nodded dubiously, though it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

"I'm Charlie Weasley, by the way," the older redhead introduced himself. "Those two jokers are Fred and George—don't bother trying to tell the difference—and that's Ron."

"I'm Harry," he reintroduced himself. Getting stuck with this friendly family wasn't the worst that had happened to him.

"Alright, then Harry. We're heading over to Flourish and Blotts to check up on Percy—another Weasley. He's got no taste for Quidditch," Charlie said cheerfully. "Did your guardian tell you where to meet?"

"I'm supposed to meet her by the Leaky Cauldron in—" Harry checked his watch "—an hour, to get my wand."

Charlie nodded, leading the group along, while questioning Harry amicably. "So, are you off to Hogwarts then?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I'm only ten, and I don't know if the Flamels are going to let me go to Hogwarts." Harry let the last bit slip to see what the reaction to that would be.

One of the twins crashed into Charlie, who had stopped in his tracks. "You're not going to Hogwarts?" he asked incredulously. "And your guardians are _the_ Flamels?"

_Funny that Hogwarts was the first question, and the Flamels the second,_ Harry mused. _I would have thought it'd be the other way around, considering that they're quite famous in the Wizarding World from what I've read._

"Yeah," he said. "Is that bad?" he asked, playing innocent.

"Well, I suppose if you're being educated by the Flamels it can't be _too_ bad," Charlie replied, obviously bemused. "Nicholas Flamel especially—a genius of the century. Centuries. You know what I mean."

Harry nodded. The reaction surprised him, but he shrugged it off. The Wizarding World as much more complex than he originally had believed. A lot friendlier too, or at least this apparently pureblood family was. He wondered vaguely if they were the sort of pureblood family who looked down on anything Muggle, but found the he already answered a definite "no" to the question before he had even asked it. It was apparent that Ron just didn't have enough experience with Wizards raised in the Muggle world and that the twins simply loved joking around. Charlie seemed not to really care that he was raised by Muggles and was happy to explain various Wizarding objects as they walked towards Flourish and Blotts. Harry found himself liking this strange group of brothers, as numerous as they were.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _I figure that since a drink in the Wizarding World is about two sickles and a drink in the "Muggle" world is anywhere between one dollar and two dollars (Canadian), then books would be about ten sickles. Therefore, if Harry buys 20 books, he's spent 200 sickles, which are approximately 11.7 galleons. Just my logic. _

_Anyways, this chapter, while seemingly lacking purpose actually has one…I just can't say what yet. As always, R&R!_


	6. Harry's Wand

**Disclaimer:** The ten signs that I don't own Harry Potter: One: I live in Canada. Two: I don't have blonde hair. Three: I don't have blue eyes. Four: I'm not a mother. Five: I'm broke. Six: I'm not published. Seven: I'm still in school. Eight: I'm not a world-renowned author. Nine: I have not met the cast of Harry Potter. Ten: I'm not JK Rowling.

**Author's Note:** _Wow! So many reviews! Thanks guys, I loved them all! Sorry this chapter's a bit late. I've been having enough computer troubles lately to keep seven programmers busy for a year. Well, not quite, but close enough. I'm just happy I didn't lose most of my work. Thank Merlin!_

_So, here's the next chapter—enjoy!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Six**

**Harry's Wand **

Harry sighed as Ollivander snatched another wand away from his hand. What number was he at now—three hundred forty-two? Or was that number three hundred _thirty_-two? He and Mrs. Flamel had been in the shop for hours, testing what felt like the whole shop to find the right wand. The Weasleys had returned Harry to Perenelle with a friendly good-bye and the exchanging of owl addresses so they could keep an eye on the nice boy they'd met, and Perenelle had promptly taken him to get a wand.

They had been in the shop for over an hour now, probably closer to two than anything else. After having the fiftieth wand snatched out of his hand, Harry had ceased wanting a wand and instead desperately wanted to get out of the dusty shop and away from any and all creepy old men. Instead, he had been forced to stand there as wand after wand was shoved into his hand and then pulled just as quickly out of it, suppressing yawns and the urge to tell Ollivander to sod off. Every time Harry let out anything so much as a sigh, however, Perenelle shot him a look over the book she was intently reading. Harry barely avoided sighing again when this happened, instead attempting to entertain himself by looking at the magic in the shop with his Magical Sight. It had gotten dull after the first half-hour, however, and now he was resigned to being in the shop all day.

Contrary to Harry's attitude about the process of finding him a wand, Ollivander was absolutely beaming at having such a "tricky customer" to deal with. The man never seemed to lose his enthusiasm—in fact, with every wand tried his cheerfulness increased exponentially. He kept mumbling to himself, talking about different wand types and combinations. All Harry could make sense of was that about one hundred wands ago (or so) Ollivander had begun to switch to combination wands—things such as holly and cherry tree with unicorn and demiguise hair. These hadn't been much better than the others, though at least Harry had a break between wands as Ollivander had to go to the back of the shop for the combination wands.

"Here we are," Ollivander grinned, coming back from the stacks. "Try this one—yew and cypress, with a phoenix tail feather and a basilisk tooth. Good for just about everything, from detail and care to blunt power. Especially suited to contrary young wizards," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Harry took the wand from his hand, not expecting anything to happen, as nothing had for the past three hundred and fifty or so wands. Instead, he could feel something coursing through him, something he had only felt vaguely while practicing magic without a wand. Silver sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, which Harry watched with his Magical Sight as the silver glow grew around him.

And then, without warning, everything turned black.

* * *

"What do you mean you tampered with the re-growing of his eyes?!" exclaimed a shocked Healer Fanchon. "I HATE YOU INFURIATING OLD MEN!" 

"Men?" Flamel asked sharply. "Was Dumbledore here?"

"Albus? No, he wasn't. It was Aberforth. One of his goats gored him _again_. He insisted that his bladder capacity be increased in the middle of the spleen-re-growing procedure! Why, in Merlin's name, do you insist in interfering with things you do not have the training for? Or even the medical license, for Merlin's sake!"

"I promise I'll never do it again?" Nicholas offered meekly, timid in the face of Healer Fanchon's wrath.

Her steely grey eyes flashed, and she glared at the ancient man, and Nicholas felt a brief surge of amusement before remembering to act cowed. "You're lying. Because you're just another one of those annoying individuals who believe they know best. This is just a game to you, you stupid, stupid man. You have no idea what sort of damage you could have caused him! First you actually _let _us do that procedure on his eyes—but tampering with it! Merlin!"

"I'm sorry," Nicholas said meekly.

"Sure you are," she sneered. "You just want to know what astonishing affects your tampering had on the boy."

"Well…"

"You've already seen some of them, haven't you, you senile old man?"

"That _is_ why I've fire-called you. I need you to make sure there was no damage…I wasn't sure the magic would even take when I did it."

"If you wanted to be sure there was no damage, you _shouldn't have done it!_ You're dealing with a _living breathing human being _here, you fool! Not another experiment!" she all but screamed, and then continued to rant as Nicholas watched her pack her bag through his position in the fire.

"Oh, move aside," she said when she had her medical kit ready. "I'm coming through, you idiot."

Nicholas smiled, and moved out of the fireplace. He knew that Healer Fanchon wouldn't be so angry if she didn't truly care for Harry. That was good. He considered making her Harry's personal Healer, to avoid the chaos that going to St. Mungo's would cause. He'd have to discuss it with Perenelle first.

Fanchon continued to mutter insults under her breath, even as she dusted soot off her Healer's cloak when she arrived at the Flamels. "Now, where did you put him, you bag of bones?" she asked gruffly, looking around the Flamel's sitting room as if expecting Harry to be shoved under one of the couches.

"He's in his room," Perenelle said, entering the room. "I'll show you the way, though I don't know what good it'll do. No one can get in."

"Absolutely brilliant," the Healer muttered. "You call me to see a patient I can't even access _and_ you didn't warn me that a situation like this could have arisen!"

Perenelle said nothing, secretly agreeing with her. She would have a talk with her interfering husband later. As the saying went, 'curiosity killed the cat…'

The door to Harry's bedroom was wide open. Both Fanchon and Perenelle could clearly see what was occurring inside. Harry was floating above his bed, his eyes wide open and emitting an extremely intense silver magical light. His limbs were limp, dangling downwards and nearly touching the bed despite the fact that his torso and head were held high. A silver shimmer coated the whole scene, and stopped just at the entrance to the door.

"When he passed out earlier," Perenelle began to explain, "It was just after he touched his new wand. I immediately took him home and put him in his room. I figured it had been the heat or something. But not even half an hour later this began, and Nicholas and I haven't been able to get in since."

"Oh dear," murmured the Healer. She approached the barrier, gently touching it with her hand. It stung only slightly, leaving no mark on her skin. She pushed further and yelped as the barrier sent a shockwave of magic through her. Shooting a glare at Perenelle, who had not warned her, she put her hand in her pocket and placed her wand through the barrier before incanting her Healer's oath.

"_The knowledge I possesses will only be used to help others, never to harm them. When anyone is in need I will help them to the utmost of my ability. I will not reveal their secrets, destroy their privacy, or break their trust in me. Every living being is safe in my hands."_

Then, bracing herself, she stepped through the barrier. The magic flared briefly, stinging her skin, before fading into a much more tolerable sensation. She flashed a smile of triumph towards Perenelle. "Works every time," she stated smugly, and then moved over to her patient.

The magic in the room was almost tangible, though Fanchon only felt a light sensation against her skin, akin to goose-bumps. Instead of pausing to contemplate the power that her young patient possessed, she approached his floating form. Running a few quick scans with her wand—all amplified greatly due to the magic in the air—she found no sign of physical harm. His magical core was fine, minus the fact that it had been released a bit too suddenly for Harry to handle. Something to do with his new wand, she'd wager. Instead of the magic being released through the wand as happened with most wizards, it had exploded out through his eyes too, as it was currently one of the most magical places in Harry's body. Due to the shock of the whole experience and the sudden influx of magic towards the brain, Harry had passed out and was stuck in a state where he couldn't reign in his magic.

The Healer was a tad uncertain as to what to do. Even with her knowledge of Healing and magical theory this case was unheard of. She knew that if she tried something like a stunner the magic surrounding her would probably lash out. Her best bet was a calming draught, though she fervently hoped that it would not interact negatively with whatever was occurring to Harry's magic.

Shoving her hand into her medical kit, Fanchon withdrew a blue potion. While the calming draught was technically only used for emotional or physical calm, studies had shown that it also affected the magic to a degree and prevented flare-ups or accidental magic. Though, she supposed, that was probably because accidental magic and flare-ups were caused by intense emotions, but trying wouldn't hurt Harry. Fanchon gently pried his mouth open and poured the potion in, rubbing Harry's neck to ensure he swallowed. She waited with her wand at the ready, in case Harry fell suddenly from his floating position above his bed.

Five minutes later, Harry had floated himself gently down onto the bed and the magic in the air had dispersed, presumably returning to its originator. The barrier outside the door fell, and Perenelle and Nicholas—who had been waiting for it to fall—rushed into the room.

"He should be fine," Fanchon said, nodding to Perenelle. "Your barmy husband decided to tamper with the re-growing process of his eyes so that he could channel magic through them." She glared at Nicholas. "No idea for what purpose, except to perhaps torment the boy."

"I didn't think it actually worked!" protested Nicholas.

"You should have had some idea. _Especially_ considering he went to pick up his wand. You _know_ that wands open the magical core even further. The sudden influx of magic went straight to his eyes as his magic sensed a secondary outlet and could have caused him serious brain damage! There's a reason why you have to be certified to even touch the brain with magic, let alone mess around in it!" she continued to rant, staring the sheepish Nicholas down. "I don't think your disintegrating mind realizes what damage you could have caused! Just because you're the oldest wizard on the planet does not mean that you have the right to mess around with a kid's head! Maybe you're _too_ old and all that time in the sun has affected your brain, you old codger. Someone needs to put a leash on you."

"I'll do it," offered Perenelle, staring intensely at her husband. "He ought to know better than doing what he did."

"Good. Keep an eye on him. And make sure that one of you explains all this to Harry—otherwise he might lose control and fry his own eyes! I wouldn't recommend that Nicholas teach him how to control it. Who knows what trouble he could cause…!" The Healer continued to rant, mumbling under her breath about insane old men and their interfering.

"How long do you think he'll be asleep for?" Nicholas asked when Fanchon's rant had died down to the barest insults.

She shot him a glare. "Give him a day or two, at least. He just channelled a hell of a lot of magic through his head. It's like causing him a magical concussion. We'll know how severe once he actually wakes up."

"Thank you," replied Nicholas, still slightly cowed.

"And next time—as I'm quite sure they'll be one, seeing how accident prone Harry is—do _not_ tamper with any magical procedure the Healers have to do!" Healer Fanchon said, glaring at Nicholas. "In fact, I'll be informing St. Mungo's to be wary of you dodgy old men."

Nicholas nodded, not saying anything to cause Fanchon's tirade to begin once more.

"I'll be back to check on him tomorrow morning," Healer Fanchon said, as she packed up her kit and put her wand away. "Try not to do anything remotely threatening in this room—his magic might flare again."

"Thank you for all your help," said Perenelle graciously, before escorting the Healer to the fireplace.

Once the Healer was out of the manor, Perenelle rounded on her husband. "What, in Merlin's name, possessed you to do something so utterly _foolish_?" she asked in a deadly calm voice.

* * *

**One Year Later…**

_Damn that half-giant!_ Albus Dumbledore thought to himself as he contemplated the missing Harry Potter. He had sent Hagrid off to find the wayward child but he had yet to appear, sending letters every few days detailing his _lack_ of progress. The term was due to begin in just two weeks, and Dumbledore was seriously contemplating involving Alastor Moody in the search for the boy, though he knew that the old Auror severely disagreed with him on several points. Many, in fact. Yet, Dumbledore was having many issues in finding the child. The most significant one being that he no longer appeared on the Hogwarts registry—a puzzling phenomenon that worried him greatly. What could cause a child to vanish in such a complete manner? He was safe and alive, that much Dumbledore knew from his monitors, yet it wasn't enough information. Not for the first time did he regret not tracking down the boy properly when he had initially vanished.

If Harry didn't come to Hogwarts…Dumbledore didn't know what he would do. It was absolutely _vital_ to the success of the light that Harry be trained properly! Hogwarts would provide that necessary education, and hopefully save them all—yet the boy had vanished. He stared at the paperwork on his desk, contemplating a solution.

A recent journal on alchemy caught his eye. Nicholas Flamel. That was the solution; ask Flamel to help him. Though, he didn't know if the ancient man would agree, it was his only hope. Calling in Mad-Eye Moody could only do so much, but if they had the _actual_ location…

Dumbledore moved swiftly to the fireplace, pulling some Floo powder out of his robes as he did so. He threw some in the fire, calling out "Flamel Manor!" as he did so, before sticking his own head into the fire.

"Nicholas?" asked Dumbledore from his position in the hearth. His head had appeared in a pleasant looking sitting room, obviously there simply for the purpose of greeting guests from the Floo.

A house-elf appeared before him. "Hello," said Dumbledore kindly. "Could you please find your master for me?"

"Teppy will be doing that, sir," he replied before popping away. Nicholas Flamel walked into the room only moments later.

"Dumbledore," he said calmly, not betraying any form of surprise.

"Nicholas, how are you?"

"Fine," he replied shortly. "Why are you here?"

"I need your help finding Harry Potter. I know you can do that thing with your magic—"

"No," Flamel interrupted him.

"No?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely shocked.

"I'm not going to help you find some poor child for you to manipulate. Find him yourself—you've had years to do so."

"But he's our only hope! You can't just—"

"I can and I will. I don't care if he's _your_ 'only hope.' Find him yourself. Voldemort has yet to reappear and you can hardly expect a child to deal with him."

"But—" Dumbledore floundered, honestly surprised.

"No. Goodbye, Dumbledore," Nicholas said, before using his wand to push Dumbledore out of the fireplace.

* * *

_Author's Note: Once again, sorry this is so late! And so short! I figured that even if it was a bit short, I ought to get it to you all as soon as possible. As always, R&R! _


	7. Lucky Number Eleven

**Disclaimer: **Honestly. Do you really think that some girl who spends half her time reading fanfiction and the other half of her time writing fanfiction would _really_ be JK Rowling? If she wanted to rewrite Harry Potter, it'd be all over the news by now!

_**Author's Note:**__Thanks for all the brilliant reviews! You guys are fantastic! Here's a beautiful, extra long chapter for you all, to make up for the length of chapter six. There are several characters that appear in this chapter, most of them are from canon as this chapter sets up some of the relationships and interactions that Harry will have with other characters later on in the fic... Anyways, hope you all enjoy the chapter!_

**Alchemical Reactions **

**Chapter Seven**

**Lucky Number Eleven**

Harry sat down at the breakfast table on the morning of his eleventh birthday with great trepidation. He knew that the Flamels had been planning something big for his birthday, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out _what_. He had looked with his 'Magic Sight' all over the house for signs of his gifts, and concluded that either they had been hidden by Muggle means and were non-magical, or that Nicholas had found a way to completely bypass his 'sight' and had hidden them in some other fashion. He refused to allow himself to consider the fact that the Flamels had forgotten; they had made it fairly clear by now that they wanted him to stick around. For now.

"Good morning, Harry," Perenelle said, handing him the orange juice as he sat down. Harry had taken a strange preference to mixing orange and pumpkin juice to provide and interesting result that wasn't quite edible to others, but suited him just fine

"Morning," he replied, grabbing a piece of toast and spreading marmalade on it.

Perenelle raised an eyebrow at him. "I believe you're forgetting something."

"Nope. I'm not forgetting a thing," Harry answered, taking a bite of his toast. "You're the one forgetting things."

"Such as?"

"My birthday, obviously," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Except you haven't really forgotten my birthday—you've just forgotten to _wish_ me happy birthday because you're secretly trying to plan a surprise party or something. Though I hope that's not the case," he mused, talking as if to himself.

"And why would you think that?"

"I've talked with the Weasleys. They gave me all the signs of an upcoming birthday surprise months ago—probably before they realized it'd be used against them. Fred and George were especially helpful; I don't think their mum has ever surprised them on their birthdays before."

"Hm, interesting concept. But no, I haven't forgotten your birthday. I was merely waiting for you to finish breakfast."

"Uh-huh," Harry replied sceptically. While Perenelle often acted aloof, she did have a sense of humour—to a certain degree—and tended to cover up her slip ups with that very aloofness. So Harry had likely gotten it right on the spot—a surprise was waiting for him but he did not know what.

Before Harry could truly contemplate what awaited him later in the day, the owl post arrived. A flurry of owls flew towards Harry, only one separating from the pack to deliver a letter to Perenelle. One by one each of the owls lined up, waiting for Harry to untie their burdens so that they could return to their business as usual.

Harry undid them all, set them in a stack beside his plate, and began to read each one while munching on his toast.

The first was from the Weasleys, not-so-subtly hinting that they would be seeing him later that day and wishing him a happy birthday. Harry had been exchanging letters with various members of the Weasley family for a year or so now, interacting with Wizarding children his own age for once in his life. He, Fred, and George seemed to get on spectacularly, while Harry and Ron interacted on a more information-sharing basis; Ron would explain aspects of the Wizarding World from his perspective (not from the century old perspective of the Flamels) and Harry would explain what it was like growing up as a Muggle. They were Harry's only real contact with the outside world and he kept it up if only for those snippets of everyday life, for he knew that his own life was far from normal. _Well, when is living with a genius born in the fifteenth century ever normal?_ he asked rhetorically, before turning to his next piece of mail.

"Harold Flamel?" he asked Perenelle as soon as he saw how the letter had been addressed. She looked from her own mail, and looked at him in askance. "This letter is addressed to 'Harold Flamel, Unplottable Location, England.' Unless you've got some other boy hiding in some part of the manor, would you care to explain why my name has been changed from 'Harry Potter' to 'Harold Flamel?'"

"Quite simple, really, Har_old_," came Nicholas's voice from the entrance to the kitchen. He walked in, carrying a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and sat down, grabbing a piece of toast for himself. "You're far too famous in the Wizarding World to go around carrying your own name. You'd in danger everywhere. Not to mention a rather prominent Wizarding family already knows your last name to be Flamel; it was rather easy to change it. 'Harry Flamel' didn't sound right. Who would expect six hundred and something year old me to ever allow a great-great-great-great…and so on…grandchild to be named 'Harry?' I suppose no one will really be calling you Harold though, so it doesn't exactly matter."

"So you changed the well-known name of Potter to the well-known name of the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Well, it'll save you some hassle from the blood-purists and Voldemort supporters," Nicholas replied cheerfully. "And it'll give you some degree of anonymity—it'll be as if no one in the Wizarding World has grown up being told your story—just your ancestor's story."

"Right," Harry replied dryly, before opening the first letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Flamel,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"That's it?" Harry asked, passing his letter to Nicholas.

"Ah yes," Nicholas nodded, "The infamous Hogwarts letter."

"They're assuming I'll attend? Why on earth would they think that?" Harry asked, puzzled by the clear lack of details and the obvious assumption that he would be going to Hogwarts.

"It's mandatory for every child in Wizarding Britain to attend Hogwarts, unless their guardians specify otherwise."

"So I'm off to this school then?" Harry asked, bemused. "What about the offers from all these other schools? That is, assuming that the ones addressed to 'Harold Flamel' are from other schools, of course."

"You won't be attending Hogwarts," Nicholas answered, grabbing himself some eggs and bacon.

"Alright," Harry nodded. He opened another one of the letters. "What about this 'Academy of Magics'…" he read a bit more of the letter, before exclaiming, "All the way in Canada!"

"No. Harry, you won't be attending school."

"Why not?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"For one, you're currently _leagues_ ahead of any other eleven-year-old—let alone twenty-year-old—out there, at least in basic magical skill. In magical knowledge, you could easily achieve an 'Outstanding' in every Hogwarts course offered from years one to four, maybe even five. Though perhaps merely an 'Acceptable' in Herbology, you'd only be slowed down by your 'peers.' There's also the matter of your…erm…wand issues." He glanced fearfully at Perenelle, who had tightened her mouth at the mention of the mishap but didn't say anything.

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his drink. He knew that he was far ahead of most of the Weasleys—even Fred and George—but from the stories that had been told about Hogwarts and attending a magic school in general, he would have enjoyed that experience. It was a shame that he couldn't…though perhaps one of these schools offered advanced learning?

Harry left breakfast with a quick 'Thank you,' before grabbing the stack of letters and taking them to his room to read. He sat on his bed and quickly skimmed through each, noting the more interesting ones. There was a letter from almost every part of the world; Hogwarts, of course, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, the Japanese School for Tejinashi, the Academy of Magics in Toronto, the Salem Institute of Magical Learning in the United States, Spain's School for Young Wizards, and many more. Unfortunately, most of them didn't seem to have the advanced learning he required, and even if he _did_ succeed in those schools, he'd just have to retake his exams to get a job in Wizarding Britain. Hogwarts was his best bet if he was to remain in Britain, but the school moved contrary to his own pace—very, very slowly.

He sighed. It looked as if he wouldn't be attending school after all. He knew that he was abnormal—it came with his strange title, the odd things he could do (odder than most wizards, even), and how he'd grown up, but he figured that he could at least act like a normal kid once in his life. It was a previously suppressed wish, now completely blown to pieces with the reality of his life now. Harry knew he could never _truly_be normal, and while most days it was okay with him, the concept of normality was too tempting to ever completely elude his anger or sadness at his life situation now.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. "Harry?" asked the owner of the knocking hand—Nicholas Flamel.

"Yes?" Harry asked, a bit more harshly than intended.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?" Harry asked, getting annoyed. Not that he wanted to sound full of himself, but it's was fairly obvious that they were planning something from his birthday. He just didn't feel that it warranted forgetting to say "Happy Birthday."

"Out."

"How utterly specific," Harry said sarcastically. "Care to be more precise?"

"Nope," answered Nicholas cheerfully. "Just get ready. Perenelle and I are waiting by the Floo."

"Fine," Harry grumbled, vaguely wondering what would happen if he went out wearing only his underwear—would the Flamels let him go out like that? _Probably_, he snorted to himself. _They get their kicks out of laughing at everything I do, I swear._ Still, he figured it probably wouldn't be wise if he came out wearing only underwear, considering that it was very likely that he would be heading off towards his surprise party now. _Some surprise,_ he thought to himself while pulling on a t-shirt.

Dressed, he left his room and walked calmly down the hallway to the entrance parlour. He didn't feel the need to rush, as he figured that the Flamels' age had kept them patient enough to wait an extra minute for him to appear.

"All set, then?" Perenelle asked when she saw him.

"Yes," Harry replied, moving towards the fireplace. "What's the destination?"

"Can't tell you that," Nicholas replied grinning.

"Honestly," Harry rolled his eyes. "How else do you expect me to get through the Floo? And it's not as if I don't already know that you've got a surprise party or something waiting for me."

"But we're not travelling by Floo powder."

"Then why are we _here_ and not at an Apparition point?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow before a thought came to him. "Oh you've got to be kid—"

The end of his sentence was drowned out by a bunch of people popping out from behind the couches, exclaiming "Surprise!" Some of them even added in a few disjointed exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and "Best Wishes!"

Harry, who had come to the conclusion that everyone was likely hiding disillusioned or something like that, wasn't as surprised as the guests apparently expected him to be. Though, all things considered, he was a good deal more surprised than _he_ had expected to be.

"Thanks?" he offered, a little half-heartedly.

"Not a problem, mate!" One of the Weasley twins approached him, clapping him on the back. The other appeared beside him, and the two began grinning maniacally at him. Harry ignored the looks the twins were giving him and took a look around the room. It appeared as if many of the Weasley family were here—the notable absence being Charlie who was in Romania. Harry and the Weasleys had hit it off fairly well since Charlie's over-protective stunt nearly a year ago, and he visited occasionally, mostly to hang out with the twins. He had quickly realized that Ginny and Ron weren't as intellectually developed as he was—which was perfectly normal for their age—and found that he and the twins got on best. Probably because Harry provided them with obscure spells and potions to aid in their pranks.

"Not going to ask how we surprised you?" one of the twins asked. Harry turned up his Magical Sight and took the second it required to tell the twins apart—this one was George. He had discovered that every witch's and wizard's magic looked different, if only slightly, which was the only way he could tell the difference between the twins. The two had thought it was an excellent party trick.

"Not a single curious question?" Fred continued.

"Your inquisitive and curious and insane mind doesn't _need_ to know the answer?" George asked, mocking.

"For once," his twin added in an undertone.

Harry just rolled his eyes at their antics. "First off," he began, "You didn't surprise me."

"We didn't?" Fred asked, putting his hand over his heart and looking hurt.

His twin copied the motion. "You wound us so very deeply."

"Good to know," Harry replied. "I figured you lot would surprise me today, considering that your letter was noticeably short, the Flamels didn't wish me 'Happy Birthday' and that I wasn't being told where I was 'going.'"

"But you didn't go anywhere!" Fred exclaimed.

"I know. I figured that out roughly two seconds before you all yelled 'Surprise!' And I take it you used a disillusionment charm?"

"Nope," George said, grinning like the cat ate the cream.

Harry suddenly looked more interested. "What'd you use then? That wonky potion I found last year that only works for five minutes?"

"Damn, George," Fred said, not acting the least bit upset.

"I know, Fred. The kid's good."

"Not good. Great," Harry smugly stated, folding his arms across his chest.

The twins rolled their eyes. "Of course," they said in unison. Harry ignored their synchronization—he had gotten over it after talking to them non-stop for three hours one time—and instead turned towards his other guests.

There weren't very many, but considering how little interaction Harry had with the outside world, it was quite a few.

The Weasleys were in attendance, looking very happy and chatting among the guests. Harry saw the Lovegoods too—he had met Luna and her father while being given a tour around Ottery St. Catchpole by the twins, and had found her rather strange sense of humour and hidden sense of loss very intriguing. His frequent Healer (for Harry's mishaps were legendary), Fanchon, was sitting, talking with Molly Weasley. An old Auror—probably Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, considering his description—was talking quietly with Nicholas, and Perenelle was chatting with an older lady who had what appeared to be her grandson beside her.

Harry mentally shrugged, before approaching the old lady's grandson. He didn't know the boy, but he figured that if he was in the house, he was okay. While he didn't trust the Flamels in all things, he did know to trust their judgement of character. If he was here, it was safe for everyone for him to be here.

"Hi," Harry said, nodding to the boy. His grandmother looked down, nodded, and let go of the boy's hand, making motions for him to move away. Harry led him towards one of the couches. "My name's Harry."

"I know," they boy answered quietly. "I'm Neville Longbottom. Happy Birthday, by the way."

"Thanks. I guess your grandmother knows Perenelle rather well then?" he asked, nodding towards the two talking.

"Yeah, she does. Why did you call her by her first name?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Harry shrugged, before giving himself a mental reminder to follow the story of the life the Flamels had made up for him. "I didn't really grow up knowing them, so it was kind of weird to start calling them grandfather or grandmother or something like that. Well, more like great-great-great-great-great—"

Neville laughed, evidently amused. "Alright, I get it, I get it!"

Harry just smiled, grinning inwardly. The boy, previously shy, was now opening up a bit. He felt it was his good deed of the day.

"So why are you living with them, then?" Neville asked, curious.

"Well, when my parents died I was sent to an orphanage," Harry began, deciding to stick to the story as much as possible. "You know how old Nicholas and Perenelle are—I don't even know if my parents knew they were related to them! Anyways, they eventually found me when I was nine, adopted me, and here I am." He kept his tone deliberately light and cheerful, not wanting anything to upset the boy. He had a better idea of who he might be now—the Longbottoms were friends of the Flamels and he had heard about what had happened to his parents.

Surprisingly, Neville chose to tell him anyways. "I'm with my grandmother too. Well, not quite 'too,' as I guess she isn't my great-great-however-many-greats grandmother," Harry simply grinned, "But still," Neville continued. "My parents are in St. Mungo's…they were attacked just after You-Know-Who fell."

"I'm sorry," Harry offered, not quite sure how to act around a fellow socially-awkward boy. Of course, he himself had come out of his shell a bit after meeting the Weasleys, but it wasn't the same as growing up with friends and such.

"S'alright," Neville offered him a weak smile.

They sat their in relatively uncomfortable silence before Ron Weasley approached them, pulling up a chair. "Hey Harry!" he said. "Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks," Harry replied, nodding to Ron.

"So, you off to Hogwarts this year?" Ron asked excitedly. "I am! It's supposed to be great, though I heard you have to do some funny test to get in—something about a troll…"

Neville emitted a tiny squeak.

"Don't worry," Harry reassured the boy. "I highly doubt that a school for children would test you with _trolls_, of all things. Who'd you hear that from, anyways?" he asked Ron, deliberately avoiding answering the question of his attendance at Hogwarts.

"The twins," Ron answered hesitantly.

"I wouldn't believe them if I were you," Harry advised. "You know how they are."

"Yeah, but Charlie…"

"Would also get a laugh if he told you that you had to defeat a troll?" Harry offered.

"Point taken," Ron said, laughing nervously. "So, are you two excited?"

"Kind of," Neville replied, reluctantly. "My family didn't really think I had magic till my Uncle Algie dropped me out of the window and I bounced."

"That sucks, mate," Ron replied sympathetically. He turned to Harry. "What about you, Harry? You got your Hogwarts letter today, right?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry said, inwardly cursing the change of topic. "But I'm not going to Hogwarts."

"WHAT?" Ron exclaimed as he stood, drawing attention from almost everyone in the room. He went redder than hair and slowly sunk back down into his chair again. "You're not going to Hogwarts?" he all but whispered.

"What's this I hear?" Fred asked, materialising beside Harry as if he had apparated there.

"Aside from Ron breaking all of our ear drums, that is," chimed in George.

"I'm not going to Hogwarts," Harry repeated.

"So we heard," the twins said together.

"But _why?_" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Haven't you seen it by now?" Fred asked Ron.

"Harry's a lot smarter than he looks," the other twin added.

"He's even helped us with _our_ homework!" Fred said innocently.

Ron snorted. "Pranks, more like."

"Well, yeah," George commented sheepishly.

"But that's beside the point."

"Harry's just too smart for us," George swooned dramatically.

"Too brilliant,"

"Bookish,"

"Know-it-all-ish,"

"Which isn't even a word," Harry said dryly.

"See!" George said, pointing at Harry accusingly.

"The Flamels are teaching me privately," Harry said, ignoring the antics of the twins. "They've been teaching me magic for about a year and a half now. According to them I ought to be in my fourth or fifth year Hogwarts education by now—"

"Blimey!" Ron interrupted.

"Sorry," Harry apologized.

"You shouldn't apologize for knowledge," Neville said. "It's not really something you can help—not if you love to read." When Harry looked at Neville in askance, he elaborated. "I love Herbology," he said, purposely not looking at Ron. He knew what his reaction might be—it was the typical reaction of most people. "And I kept apologizing for it. It's stupid. If I've got the green thumb, then why not use it?" He held up his thumb and made it glow green.

"And here I was thinking was that was just another Muggle turn of phrase…" Harry mumbled to himself.

"What was that, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Oh, I just didn't realize that there was such a thing as 'the green thumb.' In the Muggle world it's usually just used to describe someone who's good at gardening. I probably should have guessed—I've just never held much interest in Herbology."

"Er…my thumb isn't green."

Harry cursed himself inwardly. His Magic Sight, usually on a low level, only responded to really strong stimuli. His mind raced, attempting to come up with a properly fabricated excuse. He opted for a bit of the truth. "I figured that I'd be going somewhere unknown today, so I cast a spell on my eyes that lets me see magic if its strong enough—you never know when you might need something like that—and I completely forgot it was there."

They seemed to accept the answer and soon the conversation turned to other things. Eventually, it was lunch time and Harry was called over to the buffet table that magically—how else?—appeared. "Cut it Harry!" several people cheered, egging him on.

Harry didn't exactly know how most birthdays went, but he certainly knew that he needed a knife to cut the cake. "Where's the knife?" he asked, looking around the large round cake and not finding one.

"Knife?" exclaimed someone, probably one of the twins.

"Use your wand!" That was definitely the other twin.

Harry hesitantly pulled his wand out of the holster on his left forearm, before casting the spell to cut the cake. It took all his effort not to lose control then and there of the magic that wanted to be let out oh-so-badly through his eyes. He closed them shut tightly; clenching his jaw and forcing the magic back down.

Even though it had been nearly a year since Harry had obtained his wand, he still had many control issues. At first he had simply passed out a lot, then, after he had adjusted to the influx of magic into his head, he had shot the spells out of his eyes and his wand, causing no end of trouble—though it had a very high potential for mischief. Nicholas, upon whom the blame solely lay, had been attempting to teach him but as the older wizard hadn't come across anything like it in his six hundred plus years of living, he was having his own troubles teaching Harry. Instead, Harry had taken to attempting to _purposely _cast spells with his eyes, though he didn't touch a wand when doing so. It helped some, and eventually, Harry had gained a certain level of control over it, but he still had to apply a lot of concentration to avoid casting the spell with his eyes as well as his wand.

He sighed, putting his wand back into its holster. It would take a long time before he ever became truly adjusted to using a wand…

All in all, Harry had a good time at his surprise birthday party. He'd never had one before, and it was a rather strange experience, but he was quite pleased. He'd had an interesting conversation with Luna Lovegood, involving the properties of the air and space, talked a bit more with the shy Neville, and plotted with the twins. He had received a wide variety of gifts, the most interesting being the introductory guide to runes and alchemy that Nicholas had given him. He was sure the library had a copy too, but having his own copy was definitely worth it has he took great pleasure in marking up the margins of his other books. He settled down to bed that night content, almost happy with his life to date. Almost.

* * *

**Author's Note:**_Okay, okay…so I dragged in Luna and Neville. Didn't quite mean to—in fact, I didn't even intend for Harry to have much of a surprise party! I wanted him to be taken blindfolded through the Floo to the Flamel's villa or something for a vacation, but changed my mind last minute (aka the Flamels changed their minds and I was too scared that I'd end up as Nicholas's latest experiment that I agreed). Then the party got away from me a bit and random characters popped in that weren't supposed to be there. That's writing for you—the characters have complete control, I swear. _

_As a side note, the word __TejinashiMagician in Japanese. Sorry if there's an error in that—I don't speak Japanese and so I used an online translator._

_ If anyone is available as a beta, please let me know! My previous beta has a mountain of work has high as the CN Tower, so she doesn't really have time to beta anymore. Let me know if you do by sending me one of those Personal Message thingies--I'd greatly appreciate it!  
_

_Anyways, hope you all enjoyed that long chapter! R&R!_


	8. The Philosopher's Stone

**Disclaimer:** Owning Harry Potter is a _huge_ responsibility! You have to be seen in public, have your private life investigated, and be the centre of more than half the world's attention. Therefore, it should be fairly obvious that I have shied from this responsibility and instead sit writing chapters in my basement with a plenty of anonymity. I don't own it.

**Author's Notes:**_Thanks for all the amazing reviews! You guys are brilliant! Okay, so last chapter was very filler-ish, though it did contain plenty of character development. This chapter, on the other hand, has a bunch of plot in it, so enjoy! _

_A huge thank you to __**Insane Juggler**__ and __**Emmadarling **__for betaing! _

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Eight**

**The Philosopher's Stone**

_July 10, 1991_

_Dear Perenelle,_

_How are you, my dear? It has been long since we've last spoken, much to my chagrin. Though it likely doesn't feel nearly as long to you, it has indeed been years. I hear that you have taken it upon yourself to look after one of your descendants, for which I applaud you. Merlin only knows how I'd fair if I had to look after a child full time with my already busy position as Headmaster looking after three hundred of them! I understand that instead of having him here at Hogwarts, you and Nicholas have been teaching him yourself, which is very commendable. I certainly hope his studies are going well. _

_I'm afraid that I've sent this letter under an ulterior motive. It has to do with the rising of Voldemort. I realize that most believe him to be dead and that we're probably two of very few who believe that he will rise once more. Unfortunately, I have come across some irrefutable evidence that Voldemort has found himself in a position to regain a body. Rumours have been surfacing about Dark activity in Albania, and when I sent one of my previous professors (on Sabbatical for last year) to investigate, he returned much less than man than when he had left. There has been a greater concentration of snakes in the area for years now, but now Muggles and the occasional Wizard are vanishing too. I firmly believe that Voldemort has begun his plans to regain his body and his immortality. His plans appear to focus on Nicholas's Philosopher's Stone._

_It's likely that you've grown angry from just those few words. I must apologize. However, I have tried to explain the situation to Nicholas more than once, but he has refused to listen. He does not realize how much danger it is in. He is well known for being the sole possessor of the Philosopher's Stone, and as such it is very likely that all the possible locations for where it may be hidden have already been investigated or are very close to be. I know that Nicholas does not want to part with it, but we need to protect it at all costs. It is currently sitting in one of your vaults, and I am offering to collect it and bring it to Hogwarts where it will be given the utmost protection possible. I'll have each of the professors set an enchantment or trap before the Stone, and I'll personally guard the very object myself. You know that Hogwarts' professors are some of the finest and that we will do our best to protect it. I humbly beg of you to allow us to look after the stone for you. It is not safe where it is._

_Please, consider my offer. I await your owl._

_Your old friend,_

_Albus_

Perenelle reread the letter for what was likely the fiftieth time in the three weeks she'd had it in her possession. She had yet to make up her mind completely, as it was a decision that had to be discussed with Nicholas. She had taken great pains to confirm some of the facts that Dumbledore had supplied, and had come to the same conclusion that he had; Voldemort was on the move. The only thing he had gotten wrong was the location of the Stone: it was hidden safely in her jewellery chest, protected enough to mask its true power, but mildly enough that it wouldn't draw attention. Ever since Harry had stolen it accidentally when he had first come to live with them, she had added additional protections.

She sighed, and moved out to the veranda to await her morning meal and a well needed cup of tea. "Teppy," she called softly, summoning the elf to her.

"Yes Mistress Perenelly?" he replied, popping into place.

She smiled. "Could you please inform Nicholas and Harry that I will not be joining them for breakfast?"

"Yes Mistress Perenelly. Would Mistress be liking her food out here?"

"Yes, please. Could you also bring me a copy of the Daily Prophet?"

"Of course, Mistress Prenelley. Teppy will be back," and the little elf popped away.

She sighed, still contemplating the issue of the Philosopher's Stone. _To give or not to give, that is the question,_ she thought tiredly to herself. Of course, she had fewer issues than Hamlet had, though she had greatly enjoyed viewing the play herself in the Shakespearean era. It was at risk…but…

She ate her breakfast almost mechanically. Still thinking on the issue, she didn't even notice when her fork went back to her plate to find nothing there any more. Sighing once more, she went into her study to contemplate the situation.

Opening _the Daily Prophet, _Perenelle gasped. Someone had attempted to break into to Gringotts—something that hadn't occurred since the last Goblin Rebellion. They had broken into _her_ vault. Albeit, it had been one of her fake vaults that was rumoured to hold the Philosopher's Stone, but that wasn't the point. Someone had broken into one of the most highly guarded places in England. Just for the Stone. It was another interesting factor to throw into the mix.

It was three hours later that she had finally made up her mind. The Stone would go to Dumbledore, but not until she acquired enough Elixir to keep her and Nicholas alive a few years longer…just in case. If something did happen to the Stone, they would at least have a bit more time to set their affairs in order.

_August 10, 1991_

_Dear Albus,_

_I hope that you are well. How is Hogwarts doing? I haven't visited in years, it feels like. Perhaps I shall endeavour to visit soon, if I have a moment. Things have gotten busier around here since Nicholas and I adopted Harold, the one you correctly identified as our descendant. I have no idea how you manage a school full of children full time—he is a lot to handle—though his studies are going quite well. I highly suspect that if he were to attend Hogwarts at this point in time he would find himself incredibly bored for at least three years. _

_Descendants aside, I have seriously contemplated your offer. I have yet to discuss this with Nicholas, and I kindly request that you do not either. It has become my matter. The Philosopher's Stone is welcome to your protection, though I wish to oversee the protections placed upon it. I will visit in the coming weeks to drop it off—on the condition that you have the protections prepared. It has remained safely guarded for over six hundred years and I would not see it vanish from the most magical place in all of the United Kingdom for lack of protection. I'm sure you understand._

_Expect to see me before the term begins. I hope your preparations for another year are going well, and it will be a pleasure to see you again. _

_Yours,_

_Perenelle_

* * *

_September 30__, 1991_

_My dearest Perenelle,_

_I'll begin this letter quite bluntly: you requested that I inform you if there are any attempted break-ins into the corridor guarding the Stone. Unfortunately, one occurred just yesterday, though not with the goal of stealing the stone. __Three students, out of bed at night and presumably running from the caretaker, accidentally stumbled upon the corridor. Perfectly accidental, I assure you. The Cerberus did not even bark before they ran out of there, entirely unaware of its purpose. _

_On a happier note, the term has begun well. It is a shame that your foster son could not attend, for even though he is advanced of his peers, I feel that he would benefit from the atmosphere at Hogwarts, after having lived at an orphanage for the majority of his life. Please let him know that there is always a place for him here. _

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

* * *

_October 1, 1991_

_Albus,_

_I am not pleased to hear that three __students__ were able to break in. I will be arriving shortly for a visit, to strengthen the protections upon the door itself. Please, ensure that the protections do not falter. I cannot update them every month. _

_Incidentally, who were the three students? Why were they wandering in the hallways after-hours?_

_-Perenelle_

* * *

_October 2, 1991_

_My dear__est Perenelle,_

_I will ensure that the protections will remain strong. I do not feel that there is a need for you to take time out of your most assuredly busy schedule to waste energy on something that I can easily do. In fact, as soon as I finish writing this letter I shall strengthen the protections to the best of my ability. _

_The students who accidentally accessed the corridor have no Death Eater connections, if that is your worry. Hermione Granger (a Muggleborn, which is why you likely do not recognize the last name), Neville Longbottom, and Ron Weasley were the students who accidentally stumbled upon the room. I believe they were wandering the hallways solely due to the fact that young Mr. Weasley had been challenged to a "Midnight Duel" by Draco Malfoy, who remained safely in his bed while alerting the caretaker of students out of bed. A prank caused by a family feud, that is all, I assure you. _

_Again, I express my deepest apologies that mere students were able to enter the corridor. I am going to strengthen the wards as soon as I hand this letter over to Fawkes to deliver. _

_Yours,_

_Albus_

* * *

_November 1, 1991_

_My dearest Perenelle,_

_I truly hate to begin letters without proper formalities in the beginning, but I'm afraid I must. You probably suspect what has occurred by now—there was an attempted break-in at the corridor, this one purposeful in nature. I assure you, the Stone is safe. I'm afraid that I cannot inform you who did it, as there was a disaster that panicked the students at that very moment (most assuredly set up). However, whomever it was that broke-in could not get past the Cerberus. From the signs left behind, he or she is likely wounded, perhaps even close to death. Hopefully that will assail some of your fears. _

_I'm so very sorry. It appears that I need Fawkes to place upon my strongest enchantments possible. If it's any consolation, let me remind you that there are plenty of obstacles and traps after the Cerberus that will keep the Stone safe. _

_Yours,_

_Albus_

* * *

_November 3, 1991_

_You know already that I am displeased. Remember, Albus, you have the lives of two much respected members of the Wizarding Community in your hands and the happiness of one boy's. _

_Perenelle_

_P.S.—I am not __your dear_

* * *

_November 15, 1991_

_Perenelle,_

_I apologize most sincerely. It will not happen again—no one short of Voldemort could enter the corridor now, and he is several thousand miles away. _

_Please, forgive me._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

* * *

_June 15, 1992_

_Perenelle,_

_I cannot tell you how sorry I am. _

_Truly._

_Voldemort entered the school. I will be conducting an investigation immediately as to how he did so—though I highly suspect the now deceased Professor Quirrel, who arrived home from Albania changed. I believe that perhaps Voldemort was "hitching a ride," as the Muggles say, in Quirrel's body. Unfortunately, he masked his presence well enough that I was not aware of it._

_Voldemort managed to get down to the very last of the protections in place for the Philosopher's Stone. Unfortunately, I was not in the school at the time as the Ministry had called me away on very urgent business. Fortunately, one of my professors managed to stall him long enough for a notification to reach me, and I was able to cast him from the school. Unfortunately, Voldemort's attempts left the Stone destroyed. I'm so terribly sorry._

_I realize that you probably will not wish to speak with me ever again. If that is the case, I shall simply wish you farewell._

_Goodbye,_

_Albus_

* * *

_June 20, 1992_

_Albus,_

_I cannot express how angry I am with you. I expected the Stone to be safe, and it was not. I expected Voldemort to be unable to enter the castle, yet it he was. It appears as if Nicholas was right in forbidding Harold from attending Hogwarts._

_However, I __do__ understand that we all have our failings. No man—or woman—is perfect, Albus, and you would do to remember that yourself. As Nicholas puts it, "Death is but the next great adventure." I have lived longer than most beings in this world. There is enough Elixir left to put our affairs in order, and then I shall bid you farewell until your time comes._

_-Perenelle_

_July 10, 1992_

* * *

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Flamel,_

_We once again humbly invite you to join your peers at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The attached list includes second year books as well as timing to take your first year examinations, if you so wish. It would be a great pleasure to see you in September._

_Term begins September 1__st__. We await your owl no later than July 31__st_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

_July 14, 1992_

_Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thank you for your kind offer, but I'm afraid that I will not be attending Hogwarts for my schooling. I will, however, be sitting my O.W.L.s at the school at the end of this year. My home-schooling has been going exceptionally well. I hope to sit for the N.E.W.T.s at the end of the following year, or failing that, the year after. _

_Sincerely,_

_Harold Flamel_

_Signed: Nicholas Flamel_

* * *

_July 18, 1992_

_Dear Mr. Flamel,_

_Thank you for your prompt response. I'm afraid that the Ministry forbids any Wizard or Witch under the age of fifteen to sit the O.W.L.s, as it is also prohibited for anyone under the age of seventeen to sit for their N.E.W.T.s. I believe this legislation was put in place to ensure that Wizards and Witches with experience entered the workplace—geniuses or no. They want to completely avoid employing anyone under the age of fifteen (as legislation states any Witch or Wizard that has received the minimum of three O.W.L.s may be employed), to avoid magical accidents and mishaps. _

_However, if you change your mind in the following years, I'm sure many of the professors at Hogwarts would be happy to provide extra material for you to work on. After you have proved that you are capable, of course. _

_Have a good year,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

"Harry," Nicholas said softly as he walked into the library, to make his young charge aware of his presence.

"Yes?" Harry asked, not removing his eyes from the book he was currently reading nor shifting position.

Perenelle also entered the library. "Harry, we need to talk to you," she said, equally as quiet as her husband.

This time Harry put his book down. "What is it?" he asked.

"The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed," Perenelle said bluntly.

Harry stared at her for a moment, not letting her know what he was thinking. "How much Elixir do you have left?" he sighed. "Or can you make a new one?"

"There's enough Elixir for the next few years. I'm afraid it's impossible to make a new Philosopher's Stone—it was a complete accident that I made it in the first place," replied Nicholas. "I was doing some experiments in the lab and unfortunately the resulting backlash destroyed more than half my notes. I've never been able to recreate them."

"So you'll be dying then," Harry said bluntly.

"Yes," Perenelle said, smiling softly. "Though, it isn't really that big of an issue. When you've been alive as long as we have…"

"I understand," Harry nodded. "Just out of curiosity, how was the Stone destroyed?"

Perenelle made a face. "A combination of Voldemort, Dumbledore, and my foolishness."

"A very dangerous combinations," Nicholas joked.

"Shush, you," she told him. She turned back to Harry. "Let's just say that I felt the Stone needed to be removed from its location due to a possible threat, and its removal was its downfall."

"Not to sound selfish, or anything, but what will this mean for me?" Harry asked, knowing that he probably wouldn't be of legal age in the Wizarding World by the time they died.

"We're going to attempt to have you emancipated in our Will. Failing that, we'll ask you who you want your guardian to be."

"How will that work, exactly? I haven't exactly associated with many Witches and Wizards, you know."

"Actually, Harry," Nicholas began hesitantly. "You'll be taking some specialized lessons that I can't teach you starting after your birthday."

"What in?" Harry asked cautiously, not liking the hesitation he had sensed in Nicholas's voice. He knew the Flamels were redirecting the conversation, but he couldn't care less at that moment. He needed to think things through on his own first.

"Oh, combat, strategy, application, duelling…" He said casually, grinning when Harry groaned. "Stuff this old bag of bones can't teach you."

"Must I?"

"Yes. While you are very knowledgeable, you know nothing about applying the skills you have. I have yet to see you do anything astounding with that Magic Sight. You could discover other talents, in fact. For all you know you could be a Seer, yet you cast Divination aside simply because it's 'wishy-washy.'"

"Well it is!"

"Perhaps," Perenelle commented, inclining her head, "But this knowledge is still necessary. You know how much danger you're in. What's worse, is that the Ministry will likely force you to Hogwarts if they emancipate you—where you'll be in much more danger."

Harry sighed. "Alright. Fine. Doesn't mean I'll like it though."

"We didn't think you would," Nicholas grinned. "You're too much of a bookworm."

"Yeah, but at least I know when it's worth it to learn something new," Harry said, before pausing momentarily. "Incidentally, will you also begin teaching me Alchemy?"

Perenelle and Nicholas exchanged glances. "Why?"

"You're the expert…" Harry shrugged. "I figured that you might want to pass on some of your knowledge."

"We'll see," said Nicholas. "You need a basic grounding in Runic Magic, Muggle Chemistry, and Potions first."

"Check, check, and check," Harry replied grinning.

Nicholas hummed speculatively. "I'll do the checking, Harry. Not you. We could do it right now, in fact."

"Fine," Harry sighed, before closing the book he'd been reading (The Magic of the Mind by Joseph Moore) and getting up. "Where to?"

"You really want to learn this?" Nicholas said in exasperation.

"Of course," Harry said. "There's so many possibilities with Alchemy…"

"Alright, alright," Nicholas conceded. Perenelle just watched in amusement. "Assuming you perform adequately, we'll begin Alchemy with your other lessons."

"Thanks!" Harry grinned, before sitting back down and grabbing his book once more.

"And what happened to taking the tests now?" Nicholas asked, smirking as he rose from his chair.

"Damn," Harry swore, before following the man out of the room as he beckoned.


	9. Life is for the Living

**Disclaimer:** I'm in cheerful denial about the end of the Harry Potter series right now—so how on earth can I be Rowling? If I were her, I'd have an eighth book in the works already! (and be planning for a ninth, tenth, etc…if I owned Harry Potter it would _never_ end!)

**Author's Note: **_Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! I'm in shock right now—I'm glad you guys like the story so much! I got a lot of reviews saying Dumbledore did it on purpose, some saying that Harry would recreate the Stone, some saying other stuff. And all I'm going to say is that I'm not denying or validating anything. You'll just have to see for yourselves! ;) _

_I'm really sorry this chapter was a bit late, but unfortunately I had no access to the computer this past week, due to illness. But I'm back on my feet (keyboard too) and wrote a chapter 1, 000 words longer than usual, though it may seem short as it has less dialogue. Again, sorry for the wait! Hopefully next chapter will be out sooner. Anywho, enjoy this chapter!_

_Thanks to __**Insane Juggler**__ and __**Emmadarling **__for betaing!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Nine**

**Life is for the Living**

Albus Dumbledore was getting a bit fed up. More than a _bit_fed up, in fact. He was utterly exasperated, angry, and generally pissed off about the general topic of the whereabouts of one Harry Potter. The boy's letters had all been returned—and Minerva had sent them out without fail every year—with no reply. The owls themselves had appeared confused, and Dumbledore knew that only one thing would cause that: Harry Potter was no longer a Potter. It troubled him more than he usually allowed himself to be troubled. It meant that Harry had grown attached to someone who _wasn't_ Dumbledore, who was an unknown variable in all of his plans. This was not good _at all_.

What could he do? He knew the boy was safe, according to his monitors at least. Thankfully, those followed his blood and not the boy's name. The Ministry itself had set up a hunt for the boy, but there wasn't much they could go on. Just Harry's scar. A scar that could be hidden quite easily. They had no idea what he would look like; a mixture of James, a masculine Lily, a copy of James, someone else entirely? They had no idea. It was a lost cause.

There just _had_ to be another way!

* * *

Harry spent the next year delving further into his studies, at the same time attempting to find a way to completely avoid being adopted once more after the Flamels' death. It was tough—the Ministry had pretty strict laws on emancipation and it'd be tough to get around them. Historically, they hadn't emancipated anyone under the age of fifteen without something conditional. He didn't know what he could offer them, but considering how self-serving the Ministry tended to be, he didn't like the idea. At all. 

The teachers that Nicholas had found for Harry weren't up there on his 'favourites' list. In fact, he tended to hate most of them. Or the subjects at least. Of course, he could see the need for practical training in the spells he knew, so he resented the retired Auror Mad-Eye Moody the least, but the others… They pushed him harder than he felt was necessary. After all, since when did wizards practice the Martial Arts? Or learn how to fence and use daggers along side it? He felt that it was a bit much. He could understand keep oneself agile, as in a duel it'd be easier to avoid getting hit, or building up stamina in order to last longer in said duel…but was all this really necessary? It wasn't as if he was going to be allowed to carry any weapons in public anyways…

His classes in strategy weren't going much better. The teacher, a retired Unspeakable, had determined that they would play chess. A lot. If Harry saw that damned black and white tiled board again he knew he'd scream. And then lose, as usual. He wasn't used to losing or having his pride repeatedly wounded. Personally, he felt if he wasn't doing something useful with his time—and chess was_not_ useful—then why bother? Unfortunately, he'd been caught too many times attempting to skip lessons with the Unspeakable that he could no longer escape said lessons. It was rather embarrassing.

On the other hand, Harry had taken to alchemy so quickly that Nicholas had to spend a whole afternoon hunting through his library for the intermediate texts—only days after Harry was first introduced to it. He found something about it to be intriguing—whether it was the way it combined Muggle laws and science together with magic, or the fact that it wasn't something that could be used in combat (considering how sick he was with all his combat classes) and how it could do things that even magic couldn't. After all, since when could magic turn sand into air? It was absolutely fascinating.

Overall, it was quite the year. And by the time his birthday rolled around once again, he was quite pleased to note that a Hogwarts letter did not appear. Though that _did_ give him an idea...

Perhaps if he agreed to go to Hogwarts the Ministry would emancipate him, knowing that he was under the care of their beloved Mugwump?

* * *

"So, can you do it?" Nicholas asked for the fifth time in the three hours the Flamels had been in the Child Services Office at the Ministry of Magic. 

The witch behind the desk sighed, and then snapped, "If you'd just give me a few more minutes I can finalize it, Mr. Flamel. Now please, stop asking!"

"Sorry," Nicholas replied sheepishly. While he may have lived for over six hundred years, his patience had never really grown. Perenelle just shot him an exasperated look while Harry hid a yawn behind his hand.

The three of them had been at the Ministry long enough that they were getting sick with the endless paperwork. The two Flamels had been in the Ministry several hours longer than their charge, confirming certain aspects of their Will before being asked to bring Harry along so that they could consider the prospect of emancipation.

The witch, Jane Irman, had interviewed Harry without his guardians present for an hour or so, coming to the eventual conclusion that the thirteen-year-old was incredibly mature for his age. However, it was incredibly rare to grant emancipation to one so young—as Irman had put it, the cut-off age was usually fifteen. However, instead of telling them 'no,' straight off, Irman had been pulling some strings at the Ministry to allow Harry's emancipation work—using the Flamel name had its benefits, after all.

"The Minister would like me to ask you _once again_ if you have no other descendants," Irman asked with a sigh as she opened the memo that had just flown in the room.

"Yes, we're sure," snapped Perenelle, already sick of Minister Fudge. "Harold is our only descendant."

"I know," Irman replied, slightly aggravated herself before writing something quickly, charming it, and sending it back to the Minister. "Hopefully that'll do it."

"I certainly hope so," Perenelle commented sharply.

"Once he replies, the three of you will be able to sign the forms. You understand the conditions, correct?"

"Unfortunately," muttered Nicholas, while Perenelle shot him a look, though she privately agreed.

Irman gave Nicholas an intent stare. "You know that the only way this will work is if he agrees to go to Hogwarts—there's no other solution that the Ministry will accept."

When Harry had heard of this condition, he had smiled inwardly. It looked as if the Ministry wasn't nearly as stupid as it looked. Nicholas, on the other hand, hadn't been too pleased.

"I know," Nicholas sighed, oblivious to the plotting of his charge. "I'm just not happy about it. He's so advanced in comparison to his peers…"

"You expect to have another year with him, though, do you not?"

"Yes."

"Then I highly suggest you continue teaching him and simply owl the teachers at Hogwarts with his progress to ensure that he is not bored," Irman commented.

"We've already decided to do so," interjected Perenelle. She shot Nicholas a warning look, hoping he'd understand 'Don't talk about Dumbledore' from it. The two of them finally shared a hatred for the man, but that wouldn't go over too well with the Ministry. Dumbledore had far too much influence there as it was.

Harry said nothing, listening to the conversation with only half an ear. He had come to accept—to some degree—that once again he was being left alone, though he understood that it wasn't as purposeful as it had been in the past. However, it was a direct result of some of Perenelle's actions, which hurt Harry more than he cared to admit to himself, let alone the Flamels. He had thoroughly scolded himself for once again believing that he would have a family, and then had refused to think about it or form more solid bonds with the dying couple. Now he was…almost apathetic to it.

He didn't care if he went to Hogwarts either way. From the tales the stories related to him by the Weasleys, Neville, and Luna, it seemed to be quite the exciting place, filled with its own level of intrigue.

"And Harry, you're alright with all of this?" Irman asked for what was likely the twentieth time.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. Anything less than firm and she would doubt him, likely cancelling the emancipation that would occur immediately after the Flamel's death. Harry knew for sure that he didn't want to be adopted by anyone ever again—no matter how nice they were—and living at an orphanage would be very problematic considering the whole 'wizard' thing.

"Alright," Jane nodded, before grabbing a quill and pointing to the parchment she had been writing on. "Sign here," she said to Nicholas and Perenelle. The two did so, and the parchment glowed before settling down.

"Here's your copy," she said, handing it to them. "The signatures were transferred to the others." She rummaged around her desk, before finding the contract that Harry had to sign. "Here," she said.

Harry skimmed it over before signing it. It contained the basics for any emancipated child—more or less, behave and act like an adult. If he didn't, he would have to choose a guardian that would be checked over by the Ministry, and if unsuitable the Ministry would chose a home for him. Unlike other contracts, however, it also contained the addition that Harry was to attend Hogwarts until he was seventeen, beginning immediately after his emancipation, which would occur upon the deaths of the Flamels. If this was the price of freedom, Harry was more than happy to pay it. He had dreamed frequently of Hogwarts' library and getting his hands on some of those rare books…It looked as if his manipulations had definitely paid off.

"Here's your copy," Irman said, shaking him out of his stupor. He nodded, curling up the parchment and holding it loosely in his hand. "Hope you have a good day," she told them, smiling tiredly.

"Thank you," Perenelle said, before ushering Nicholas and Harry out of the room.

* * *

Over the next year, give or take, Harry focused on his studies as much as possible, endeavouring to learn all he could from the Flamels. Luckily, his avid interest in alchemy allowed gave him access to knowledge that Nicholas would never be able to divulge to someone who didn't understand the basics. He had gotten so far in his studies that Nicholas had sworn that if he wasn't going to die within the year, he'd take Harry on as his apprentice. As it was, several months after New Years Nicholas declared Harry fit to apply for the intermediate exam in alchemy at the Ministry—definitely not yet at a Mastery, but closer than most ten years older than he was. Harry was just happy that the Ministry hadn't put any age restrictions on the alchemy exams, as it was almost always a subject in which the student was an apprentice. 

Harry found himself under intense scrutiny quite often from Nicholas. He didn't understand it—nor did he understand half the tests that Nicholas required him to perform. It seemed to be a waste of his magic and his time. There were better things he could be doing than being Nicholas's test subject for whatever mad plan the old man had concocted. Still, he let the man tinker, as he was going to be meeting death soon and Harry really did want to learn all he could from him.

It was the end of May when Nicholas and Perenelle were admitted into St. Mungo's. Barely days later, they had passed away, peacefully according to the Healers. Harry was left with a large majority of their possessions, including a book of research from Nicholas and a letter from the two of them. Harry refused to allow himself to grieve over their deaths. Yes, they had taken care of him for years, but he hadn't allowed himself to grow attached to them for a reason: everyone always left him in the end. It may have been a bitter statement, but it was all Harry had known when growing up. _I'm better off on my own,_ he thought, packing his bag for Hogwarts.

That was another inconvenience. Hogwarts. Due to the contract he had signed, the Ministry required him at the school immediately. Harry had written to the Deputy Headmistress as soon as the Flamels had been admitted into the hospital, and she had replied back promptly, informing him that while he could not join his year mates for the end of term, he could be tested for next year to see where he was academically. It was so rare that Hogwarts took on home-schooled students that this would also allow them to place him accordingly. She had also expressed her sadness at his loss, and other such pleasantries. It was overall what he had expected, a typical boring letter.

Harry was to leave for Hogwarts as soon as he had everything sorted out at the Manor, the Flamel's Will included. The day after Harry had received what was left to him in the Flamel's Will (the manor included), Harry finally sat down to take a peek at what they had written to him, spending his last few hours before he left for Hogwarts via Portkey alone.

Sighing, Harry sat back on his bed and stuck his feet on top of the trunk he had left at the end of the bed. He first opened the letter, resisting the urge to delve immediately into the research journal Nicholas had left him. Harry opened the letter, only to find that there were two tucked within. The first was from Perenelle, saying a goodbye in more words, but Nicholas's was much more interesting.

_Dear Harry,_

_Hope you're well. Life's fine, just great. I'm only writing this letter to let you know that if you're getting it I'm dead. Well, you probably know that already. Don't you just love beginning misleading letters? I left Gringotts with instructions to mail this to you…though they probably didn't. The goblins know me well enough by now to avoid doing anything that involves me grinning like a mad man. Not that I'm not mad. _

_Well this is it. The barmy old codger has kicked the bucket, hasn't he? In the end, I think I was absolutely mad for attempting to stay alive for so long. There's only so much that a person can handle before they want to shut themselves off from the world. At the same time…I had the rare and marvellous opportunity of seeing the world as it changed and evolved; something that I'm sure most would give their hearts for. Well, their souls at least. Vampires, you know._

_I think death is making me a tad nervous. I know you probably won't miss the two of us, me and Perenelle, but I'll certainly miss you. (Can't speak for Perenelle here, she's writing her own letter to you.) I wish that we'd had the opportunity to raise you from the beginning—imagine how different all our lives would be! A good different, of course. _

_There are some things you need to know that I didn't quite have the courage to tell you while I was among the living. The first is probably the reason why I sought you out for adoption in the first place. And how, I suppose. Of course, I can't really give you a simple explanation. It involves plot, intrigue, suspense…I feel as if I'm about to write a mystery right now. _

_When you were born, Harry, the world immediately knew. Lily and James Potter were both of high standing and class within the __Wizarding World, and you were their pride and joy. From what I could tell at the time, Lily immediately began looking up spells to further protect you. She worked as a researcher in the Department of Mysteries and had access to knowledge that you and I can only dream of. I think, at some level, she and James both knew you'd be a target. They just didn't realize how much of one. _

_From the information I received after the fact, James and Lily were pushed into hiding under the Fidelius Charm by Dumbledore, at the same time Alice and Frank Longbottom decided to do so as well. It is obvious that Dumbledore felt that both families were in grave danger. What proof he had, I do not know, but it was enough to have both intelligent couples alarmed. _

_I don't know how much of my library you've gotten through yet, Harry, but there's a book in there solely dedicated to the Fidelius Charm. You probably haven't gotten around to reading it yet—I've seen that your major focus is still alchemy right now—so I'll explain what exactly it is. The Fidelius Charm essentially keeps anyone who is not in on the 'Secret' from seeing the house or even acknowledging its existence. A Secret Keeper is chosen to protect the house, as they take upon themselves the responsibility of keeping the house secret. They will be told an address or something similar that will be the 'password' to gain access to the house under the Fidelius Charm. It could be something as simple as "Hogwarts School is located in Scotland" and if under the Fidelius, anyone who'd been told that from the Secret Keeper alone would be allowed access. Anyone who hadn't (even if they knew that Hogwarts was in Scotland) would not be able to see the school or locate it in any fashion. _

_I have no idea who the Longbottoms' Secret Keeper was, but I know that your parents' Secret Keeper was Sirius Black, though even that information is highly suspect. __ Yes, he was the escapee of Azkaban Prison that was all over the news several months ago. From what I can gather, he betrayed your parents to Voldemort, despite being James's best friend. He was named as your godfather long before his treachery was known. After your parents were killed, he hunted down Peter Pettigrew under the pretext of blaming him for the Potters' murder, and instead killed Peter and twelve Muggles, as I'm sure you know. What is suspect is that he was not given a trial and was pushed straight into Azkaban. This move was supported by Albus Dumbledore._

_As you know, you were named the Boy-Who-Lived (and whoever came up with that nickname had no imagination whatsoever) and the world celebrated, etcetera, etcetera. __However, surviving the Killing Curse was no mean feat, and certain people began to take a special interest in you. I was one of them. _

_One of the many abilities I learnt over the years was that of tracking magical persons. The way I learned it was as a branch of Divination—and I know how much stock you put in that—but it is annoyingly precise. It involves setting up a map and hanging an object focused on said person over it, so that it can monitor their whereabouts. Sorry for the invasion of privacy, by the way, but you can't exactly get mad at me for that—I'm dead! So I kept an eye on you for the first few months, making sure you were generally okay. While you seemed to move around a lot, you eventually settled. Afterwards, I checked up on you every month or so, to make sure everything was in order._

_When you were about five or so, you began moving around the country a lot. I decided that perhaps you had some turmoil or something similar going on in your family's life and decided I'd visit—as soon as it seemed as if the trouble had passed. Imagine my surprise when I found you—finally settled at the orphanage—without a home! I spoke with the __owner, and immediately decided that you ought to be adopted. It was clear that you had no knowledge of where you had come from or your importance and it was vital that you know them before you received your Hogwarts letter and fall under Dumbledore's influence. _

_So that's more or less why I adopted you. There were other reasons, but you'll find most of those in the journal I left you. I might have taken it upon myself to study the way your magic interacts with you—the level of control and power you have for your age is unprecedented, and I felt that I might as well research it since you needed to know the information anyways. The gist of it is more or less that your magic is much more closely connected to you than anyone else—so keep an open mind about what you can do. If anyone tries to tell you that you can't do something, check it out for yourself before believing them. They might be wrong when it comes to you. I have theories as to why this occurred, but I don't really want to get into here. You'll find it all in the journal. _

_About Albus Dumbledore…be careful, Harry. Don't trust him __at all,__ no matter what he says or does. The Albus Dumbledore I knew years ago is not the one of today. I don't know what happened, but he's changed for the worse. He's manipulative, sneaky, and generally wants to use you as his weapon. "For the greater good," has he put it in a firecall towards me, but don't allow yourself to be drawn into his "greater good" crap. When Albus was growing up, he believed in being straightforward, not being manipulative, and that everyone deserved their own life. He would have never sacrificed or used one person for a cause, not if they were unwilling or uninformed. However, a few decades ago all this changed and Albus's mind became…poisoned, almost. I don't know. I don't want to know why or how it happened, just that he is not the person he is made out to be. __Do not trust him._

_Before I'll close this letter, I'll give you a reminder about Hogwarts. Whatever you do, do __not__ let anyone see your scar. Keep it covered by Muggle and Magical methods __at all times__. Wizards don't frequently check for Muggle disguising tactics, so you ought to be fine. Actually, scratch that. You should attempt to change a bit of your appearance as much as possible. There are people at Hogwarts who knew your parents and know what they looked like. From the pictures I've seen, you look a lot like your father, though you have your mother's eyes. If you're not careful, someone will put two and two together and get Harry Potter. Again, I suggest Muggle methods combined with Wizarding methods. _

_That said, I've got some last minute advice for you. __Live your life how you want to live it. Life is for the living, as they say. I wish you the best of luck in living, Harry, and hope that you're happy. Don't fear death though…after living so long in this world, I can safely say that I'm anticipating death quite eagerly. I'm incredibly curious what it will hold. And if it's nothing…well at least I know that I've lived a full life. So live yours and don't wallow. You do too much of that as it is._

_-Nicholas_

_PS—A heads up for you: Slytherin doesn't always mean evil. _


	10. Hogwarts

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling appeared on tour in Toronto (the area I live in—1 in 4 million people) a few days ago. At the time was I was in school. Unless I can be at two places at once, I highly doubt that I'm JKR…therefore it is impossible that I own Harry Potter. So no suing!

**Author's Notes: **_I'm currently staring at the review count in shock. You guys are amazing! I can't believe I've gotten over a hundred reviews…wow. Thanks! Sorry this chapter is barely hitting my own maximum of a week before another update...but I haven't had too much time recently. Life's been a bit hectic. _

_Thanks to __**Insane Juggler **__for betaing. Also, a big thank you to _**David305 **_for catching one of my careless errors last chapter. Silly fingers… _

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Ten**

**Hogwarts**

"Mr. Flamel?" called a voice from behind Harry. He was standing at Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King's Cross station, waiting his escort to Hogwarts. He had been told that they would take the Sunday train together, as he was not allowed to ride the train to Hogsmeade alone. The train had already pulled up in the station, and was just waiting for the clock to turn to eleven to leave.

"Yes?" Harry asked cautiously, turning around. A tall man, with dark hair, sallow skin, and wearing a black cloak greeted him.

"I am the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts. You may call me Professor Snape," he said, barely adding any inflection into his voice.

Harry nodded, and followed as the man lead him to the train, boarding behind his sweeping cloak. Professor Snape led him to a compartment and told him to store his trunk under the seat before sitting down across from Harry.

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments as they waited the train moving. Harry counted down the seconds on his Muggle analog watch, noting that the train began moving the second the minute hand turned to twelve and the hour hand lay completely on the eleven. Looking up from his watch, Harry raised the level of his Magic Sight to gauge Snape's power levels—something that was always good to know about ally or enemy—and found them to be above average, though nowhere near what Nicholas Flamel's had been. If Hogwarts employed professors with such power levels, it was a good sign. It meant that the Headmaster had some idea what he was doing, despite Nicholas having warned Harry off of him.

He noticed Snape staring right back at him, probably at his hair. Harry had figured it would probably be the easiest to change, but had messed up a tad on the colour. He had been planning to bleach it blonde, but had accidentally turned half of his head white, much to his consternation. If he hadn't done it just this morning before arriving at King's Cross, he would have changed it back and figured out what had gone wrong. As it was, it at least made him look different.

"It's a Muggle style," he said shortly, hoping the man wouldn't see past the fact that it was a lie. Most wizards didn't tend to know too much about Muggle life. "Is it acceptable for Hogwarts?" he asked, lending a bit of sarcasm to his voice.

"I suppose," Snape replied slowly, doing all he could to not snort in disgust. "I'll be sure to let the Muggle Studies Professor know that he has such an…_expert_ at hand."

Harry didn't rise to the bait. "Thank you, sir," he replied shortly.

The professor sighed, momentarily losing his mask of indifference. "I suppose I should be telling you what the rules at Hogwarts are and what you will be doing for the remainder of the term."

Harry inclined his head, waiting for the man to continue. He figured he'd be doing something like standardized testing in all the subjects taught at Hogwarts, and he wasn't wrong.

"For starters, you'll be spending the last few weeks of term being tested in a wide variety of subjects—likely every one that Hogwarts offers. You may set the level, and if you pass, you will be entered into that class. If you have misjudged, we will continue testing you until we know which year level we should enter you in. You are a very complicated case, Mr. Flamel, and it is very rare that we get home schooled students arriving at Hogwarts in the middle of their education, let alone ones with a Journeyman status in Alchemy."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You know about that, sir?"

"Ministry records," was the short reply, before he continued on. "Despite your special…_circumstances_," he sneered, "You'll be expected to follow the rules of Hogwarts. No magic in the hallways, respecting others privacy and property, prohibition of entry into the Forbidden Forest, and other similar restrictions. I'll leave you with the handbook for the latter half of the journey."

Harry nodded. "That's acceptable sir," he said calmly, despite his vague annoyance with the Professor in front of him. Trust Dumbledore to send a borderline _rude_ wizard to greet their newest student.

"While you are at Hogwarts for the latter half of the term, however, you will be expected to obey different rules. For one, you will not be eating with the students. We will be assigning you rooms in the guest tower for the duration of your stay, as you are only at the school for assessment and not officially enrolled as of yet. If you do come in contact with students, you are not to interrupt their studies for their exams. You are to involve yourself in student life to a minimum. You are not to wander the corridors at night. You are to follow the schedule that I will be giving you when we arrive at the school. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Harry replied, nodding his agreement.

"Another thing. You are to address all teachers as 'sir' or 'ma'am' or 'professor,'" Snape sneered again.

"Yes,_sir_," Harry replied, resisting the urge to glare.

"Good," the professor said, before pulling a book out of his cloak and settling down to read. "You may amuse yourself, but do not interrupt me."

Harry nodded before reaching into his trunk to grab a book for himself, this one titled Potions and Chemistry: Can a Muggle work Magic?He chose it partially because he was already in the middle of the book and also because he wanted to get a rise out of this professor, who appeared to look down on him. The man himself was reading a book entitled Gold Cauldron: Augmenting Your Potions, which was surely filled with enough jargon that only a Potions master would understand its contents.

Unfortunately for Harry, the professor didn't react to Harry's book until halfway through the ride. In fact, he spent more time studying the boy than actually reading his own book, choosing to ignore Harry's reading choice until it became obvious that he was staring. Snape found himself questioning Harold Flamel's origins more than anything. Something about the boy was disgustingly familiar, such that it left a bad taste in his mouth. He physically reminded him of someone…he just wasn't sure _who_. Of course, that was eliminating the variable of the boy's hair…what a disaster. Shoulder length and tied back with a leather tie, it was split down the scalp evenly black and white. _A 'Muggle thing' my arse,_ Snape thought to himself. _The boy lied. He did it on purpose to gain more attention than deserved, to make a statement. Interesting way to go about it, though…I believe he's the first student to dare, except for Nymphadora Tonks, but even she kept it relatively subdued when in classes…Next year will definitely be interesting._

Thankfully, Harry was unaware of Snape's thoughts towards him as the Professor continued his musings about the strange boy. _He's probably quite proficient in potions, to already have a Journeyman's in Alchemy. There needs to be at least an O.W.L. level knowledge of potions to even attempt the beginner's exam. I have a feeling that I'll have to hunt down some extra work for him…What a bother._

"Interesting book," Snape finally commented snidely, about halfway through the journey.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said without looking up.

"Do you honestly believe that Muggles can make potions?" Snape challenged, testing the beliefs of his soon-to-be best student.

"Can squibs?" Harry countered.

"_Sir,_" emphasized the professor, before continuing. "It's been theorized that they can, but only to a certain point."

"Just theorized? Has no one tested it, _sir_?"

"There have been studies conducted, but most are unreliable. Squibs tend to vary in talent—some can actually do some of the less wand-oriented magics, such as divination, herbology, or even potions. But at the same time, many others can't do a thing. Something to do with the magic they're exposed to as babies…"

"But in theory, Squibs with some talent _can_ create potions, so why can't Muggles? Perhaps gathering many of the ingredients themselves would be an issue, but making the potion? There's no wand-waving in potion making," Harry replied, surprising Snape with his intelligence. He had even unconsciously mimicked Snape's 'first year' speech, which he gave every year to terrify first years.

The two of them continued an in-depth conversation regarding potions and then branching off for the rest of the journey. The only interruption was when a lady carting food around came by, asking if they wanted lunch. Harry grabbed a snack or too, then continued his conversation with the Professor, who had a surprisingly quick mind. What both had thought would be a boring train ride turned into one that passed by quickly, fuelled by their mutual interest in potions.

* * *

"His Journeyman's in Alchemy…" Dumbledore muttered to himself, after Snape had finished giving his report. 

"Also very knowledgeable in Potions," Snape added. "At _least_ N.E.W.T. level."

Dumbledore hummed to himself, obviously contemplating the prodigy in their hands. "You said he died his hair rather oddly?"

Snape nodded. "Probably knows we can't expel him, at least not with the parchment the Ministry had him sign."

"Any idea what house he'll end up in?"

"Ravenclaw or Slytherin," Snape replied promptly. "Probably more of the latter…Slytherins tend to be more rebellious than Ravenclaws."

Dumbledore's expression darkened. "For Voldemort, then?"

Snape shook his head, mentally frustrated that everyone seemed to assume that Slytherin meant being pro Voldemort. "I don't think so. He was arguing _for_ Muggles when we were discussing if Muggles could create potions. And do you honestly think the Flamels would have put up with the Dark Lord's 'blood purity' bit in their home?"

"True. How upset did he seem, about their death?"

Snape shrugged. "He either hides his emotions really well or he feels nothing. We didn't really bring it up, but he didn't appear to be too upset. More distant than anything."

Dumbledore nodded, more to himself than anything. "Do you have his list of requested test levels?"

Snape handed the previously forgotten piece of parchment to the Headmaster, who raised his eyebrows as he read it, surprised.

_Ancient Runes—Graduate __level_

_Arithmancy—7__th__ year level_

_Astronomy—4__th__ year level_

_Care of Magical Creatures—4__th__ year level_

_Charms—7__th__ year level_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts—Graduate level_

_Divination—not studied_

_Herbology—5__th__ year level_

_History of Magic—5__th__ year level_

_Muggle Studies—Graduate level_

_Potions—Graduate__level_

_Transfiguration—6__th__ year level_

"Does he really feel that confidently?" he asked, astounded at the sheer amount of knowledge one fourteen-year-old believed he possessed.

"Yes, I believe so," Snape smirked. "Wasn't too cocky about it either."

"If I didn't know you better, Severus, I'd say you actually _like_ the boy," Dumbledore commented.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape replied, scowling. Dumbledore just gave him a knowing look, before returning to his contemplation of Harold Flamel.

After several minutes of silence, in which Snape barely resisted the urge to get up and leave Headmaster's office, Dumbledore broke the silence. "Let him go the Great Hall for meals."

"Albus?" Snape asked, questioningly.

"I'm sure, Severus. He'll have to interact with them at some point."

"But where will he sit?"

"Wherever he wishes," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. "This will be rather interesting, will it not?"

Snape merely scowled as a response.

* * *

Unbeknownst to him, Harry mirrored Snape's exact response when a House-Elf popped into the quarters he'd been given to inform him that he'd be joining the students for meals. He didn't really want to associate himself with the students just yet, happy enough to explore the castle on his own. This definitely ruined his plans of using meal times to create a map of the castle. 

He sulked for a few minutes, before pulling on some robes and schooling his face into an expressionless mask. He knew dinner was going on right now. If he was going to be forced to attend meals, he might as well make an entrance. Harry kindly asked the House-Elf who had delivered the message to lead him down to the Great Hall, and the little creature was happy to do so.

Arriving at the Great Hall doors, Harry thanked the House-Elf before straightening his robes. Inwardly sighing, he braced himself for stares as he pushed open one of the doors. The heavy wooden door, charmed to swing all the way open at a single touch, announced his entrance more than Dumbledore could have. Cursing the man, but outwardly showing no emotion, he looked around the room to see if anyone he knew was present…and a place to sit. Not quite knowing what to do, he stood there and attempted to look as minimally awkward as possible.

Dumbledore rose from his seat, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "Mr. Flamel, welcome. Students, Mr. Flamel is here to be assessed on his current knowledge so that he will be able to join you next term here at Hogwarts. Please, welcome him," Dumbledore said smiling. Turning to Harry, he added, "As you have not yet been sorted, you may sit wherever you chose."

Harry looked around the room, encountering many curious faces at each of the four long tables. He had heard of these from letters from the few people he knew at Hogwarts and knew that sitting at one would declare his affiliation almost indefinitely. Instead, he directed his gaze towards the head table, and made his choice.

Walking calmly between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Harry made his way to the front of the Great Hall, waving a small hello to Luna Lovegood as he did so. He then turned left, heading along the top of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables (saying a quick hello to the Weasley twins in the process) and making his way around the side to the staff table.

"Here's a good a spot as any," he announced, and the table itself expanded and put another chair in place for him. Smiling, he sat down next to one of the professors and began helping himself to mashed potatoes.

The hall broke out into whisperings, with small cheer coming from the Weasley twins. "You owe me five galleons!" he heard one of the twins announce loudly to a friend, and snickered inwardly.

Chancing a glance at Dumbledore's face, Harry caught a small frown forming before it turned into a smile of welcome. "A sense of humour, I see," he said, smiling genially. "You're welcome to sit here for tonight, but starting tomorrow please find seating among the students."

Harry nodded his consent, before returning to his plate. The professor beside him, a rather short fellow, was beaming at him. "Simply marvellous," he said. "I don't think anyone's surprised the Headmaster that much in years!"

Harry swallowed the mouthful of food he had put in his mouth and smiled in reply. "I thought it'd make things more interesting, professor."

"Oh, that's right! I'm professor Flitwick, Charms Professor and Head of Ravenclaw House," he said happily. "You must be the home schooled protégée! I'm quite excited to see what you can do."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

"Very smart of you to choose not sit at any of the House tables, I must say," Flitwick added, nodding. "Most unfortunately, many of the students can be quite prejudiced, even my own Ravenclaws."

"I figured as much, sir," Harry replied, nodding and taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. He was mentally wishing that he could add orange juice to it, but supposed it would have to do. "I happen to know a few of the students here and from what they've said I've gathered that the Houses tend not to interact with each other."

The little professor nodded gravely. "Yes, I must say it is one of the school's biggest faults," he said looking sad, before changing the topic. "So, which students do you already know?"

Harry and the Professor continued their conversation throughout the rest of the meal, leading onto the subject of Charms before long. Professor Flitwick was genuinely pleased with Harry's knowledge and conversational abilities, and said so, remarking that he was unusually mature for his age.

By the end of dinner, Harry found himself not minding having being forced to enter the Great Hall _too_ much. He'd made his statement and his attitude known, as well as his tendency to take things literally to the point of mischief. Overall, it had proved to be a very interesting meal, one that would hopefully allow him to lower the House boundaries to converse with_everyone_. He'd begin with the Slytherins tomorrow.

Leaving the Great Hall, he was cornered by Fred and George Weasley, closely followed by Ron and Neville. Luna also stopped her exit from the Great Hall to say hello.

"How come you didn't tell us you'd be coming to Hogwarts?" one of them—possible Fred—asked. Harry didn't want to raise his Mage Sight to check, as even at that low level the magic of Hogwarts was unbearably bright to his eyes.

"And dyed your hair!" George added.

"Or is that a glamour?" Fred asked picking up a strand of the white hair. Harry brushed his hand away, mock-glaring.

"I had an accident while dying it," he replied.

"I'll say," sniggered Ron. Harry glared at him and he shut up. Ron turned to Fred and George, adding, "Anyways, I'm off to cram in some more studying before bed. Night guys," he said to them all, and left, waving.

"The Tree Undines spoke to you, didn't they?" Luna asked. Harry looked at her oddly, before nodding slowly. Beside him Fred and George were sporting identical grins and Neville was stifling a laugh. "I can see it in your eyes," she nodded, before also leaving.

"Er…bye Luna!" Harry called after her. "Is it just me or did she get a bit more…let's say _distracted_ since I've last seen her?" he asked Neville.

The boy shrugged, trying not to laugh. "She's been like that for a while now. I haven't really noticed. Anyways, what are you doing here?"

"Well the Ministry is kind of forcing me to be here…" Harry began.

"What?" one twin exclaimed.

"Can't the Flamels stop them?" the other asked.

Neville looked at Harry's expression, which had momentarily hardened. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, patting him on the shoulder. He turned to the twins. "The only reason Harry would be here is if the Flamels weren't around any longer, you idiots."

The twins shared a glance. "Sorry about that, Harry," one of the twins, possibly George, said.

"Yeah, didn't mean to be insensitive," Fred added.

Harry snorted in derision. "Very funny, you two. 'Didn't mean to be insensitive' my arse."

"Well, didn't mean to be insensitive about _that,_" George amended.

His twin changed the topic. "Brilliant stunt at dinner!"

"Yeah, got us five galleons from Lee for that!" George added.

"I heard," Harry commented dryly. "Nice to know you're earning money from me."

Neville laughed and continued to do so as the twins grabbed both of Harry's arms b Harry's arm and began dragging him in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. "C'mon, let's show Harry the Gryffindor commons!" Fred yelled back to Neville, who hurried to catch up.

"I can walk on my own, guys," Harry said, shaking himself loose.

"Yeah, but it's more fun for us this way!" Fred said, grinning and grabbing Harry's arm again. His twin mirrored his action and Harry sighed, resigned to being dragged.

"Besides, you probably won't get to see them again," George added. When Harry looked from either twin to Neville, who had caught up and was at Fred's side, in puzzlement, he was greeted with an assessment of his character.

"You're definitely a Ravenclaw, mate,"

"So we're letting you have this last bit of fun before you go off to rule-breaking prison."

"He could be a Slytherin, you know," Neville added.

Mock gasps of horror issued from Fred and George's mouths. "Never!" said one.

Neville began arguing with him, however. "It would be like Harry, though, wouldn't it? Rebelling against the standard, that is."

"I did hear that Slytherin parties _are_ wicked," Fred conceded.

"He'll just have to invite us then!" George added, grinning.

"I'm right here, you know," Harry commented, more amused than annoyed.

"We know," grinned Fred, before leading him to meet the Gryffindors.

**Author's Note:** _And that was Chapter Ten! I hope I didn't ruin Snape, though he might have been a bit bland at first…remember, he's not dealing with "Harry Potter" here, just some relatively unknown student that knows a hell of a lot about potions. Also, about the whole hair thing... it was a complete accident when I was writing it...but I felt like having Harry looking a bit rebellious. He's not going into this wanting to, after all. Next chapter will be out as soon as possible…I hope. Life is hectic, as per abnormal. Hopefully, it will settle down soon enough. Anyways, hope you all liked the chapter! R&R!_


	11. Lunar Eclipse

**Disclaimer:** I'd love to own Harry Potter, I really would, but I'm afraid I just can't take on the responsibility of having Rowling's lawyers on my back twenty-four/seven. So I'm sorry, but you'll have to ask someone else to claim work that isn't theirs.

**Author's Notes:** _I think I passed out momentarily from shock when I saw how many reviews I got from last chapter alone. You guys are so sweet (though if you'd prefer not to be known as sweet, you are all also brilliant, amazing, and awesome)! I can't believe I completely overlooked certain plot elements that occur in this time period. Lucky I caught them…I definitely need more caffeine. Enjoy!_

_ Once again, huge thank you to _**Insane Juggler**_ for betaing! Also, thanks to _**David305** _to catching many of the mistakes I've made in this chapter!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Lunar Eclipse**

Harry yawned. He was bored. Actually, he was beyond bored and he'd been in Hogwarts for less than a day. It was easy to find the cause of his boredom—the Gryffindors. Well, more specifically, the lack of Fred and George Weasley. The Gryffindors had begun an impromptu party, forgoing studying in favour of welcoming the newest student at Hogwarts. Frankly, Harry knew that there were some ulterior motives behind it. They were putting on more of an act that anything else. Privately, Harry believed that either they desperately wanted him in their House or the rumours of the betting pool the twins had begun were accurate. In fact, it sounded very much like something the twins would do—quite similar to sneaking into Hogsmeade and bringing some treats for the Gryffindors, as they had mentioned they were about to do before leaving him alone.

Of course, Neville was around… but Neville had said he had to study and would catch up later. Harry didn't want to bother him, as he knew that Neville was studying as hard as he could for the potions exam on Tuesday and wanted to do well to make up for his abysmal marks during the year. Instead, Harry was left to watch the chaos that Gryffindors of almost all years generated, feeling almost ill watching them. They were far too social for his liking. If he heard one more person tell him that he belonged in Gryffindor for the sheer audacity of his actions at dinner, he would scream. He was seriously contemplating leaving the party, but knew it would be rude, and he wanted to stay on good terms with as many of the students as possible.

Sighing, he got up to move to a quieter corner of the room. A few eyes followed him, but by then the majority of people were too wrapped up in having a good time to really care. The only person there was a quiet girl with bushy brown hair, obviously attempting to study. She was mumbling furiously to herself, and from what Harry could tell she was studying potions, likely trying to remember the properties of Dragon's Blood.

"Come up with an acronym," Harry suggested as she once again cursed furiously and began listing the twelve properties again.

"Sorry?" she asked, looking up from her work.

"An acronym. You know, taking the first letter of each word and making a word from that."

"I know what it means!" she snapped. "Sorry, I just can't _think_ with all this noise!"

"I understand," he said, grinning wryly.

She sighed. "I was about to give up anyways. It's just too loud when the twins start one of their parties…"

"Yeah, it's a bit much for me too. I've thought of returning to my room, but that would be rude."

"I don't think it really matters anymore," the girl pointed out, looking around the room. No one was really paying much attention to Harry.

"I meant to Fred and George. I hate being on the receiving side of their pranks."

"Understandable," she agreed. "I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger." Harry opened his mouth to respond, when she cut him off. "And you're Harold Flamel. I'm sorry to hear about Nicholas and Perenelle. Were you close?"

Harry barely restrained himself from glaring at the girl, who obviously held no malicious intent towards him, though he resented her taking over the function of speech for him.

"Not very close. They adopted me when I was about nine, and were more like teachers than anything to me."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "What did they teach you? Oh, did Nicholas teach you Alchemy? I hear he is—sorry, was—the best in his field! Did you get a chance to look at the Philosopher's Stone? Does it actually produce elixir?"

Harry laughed in spite of himself, taking her onslaught of questions light-heartedly. "Slow down, Hermione!"

She blushed. "Sorry, I tend to get a bit carried away."

"That's alright. I did learn quite a bit from the Flamels, actually. We'll see just how much of it can be applied to the Hogwarts curriculum in a few days, I suspect. I actually have my Journeyman's in Alchemy, due to all of Nicholas's teachings. He was an unexpectedly good teacher," he said fondly, refusing to think past that.

Hermione's eyes went wide. "B-but…Journeyman's? That's brilliant! I thought you needed a N.E.W.T in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Potions to do that, though!"

"They might have bent the rules a touch for Nicholas…I suppose if I'd legally been able to take N.E.W.T.s in those three I would have."

"Amazing," Hermione breathed, seemingly in awe of him. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, more embarrassed than anything. "What can you tell me of Alchemy? I've always found the subject so fascinating but never had time to really study it, unfortunately. Is it really as complicated as it looks?"

Harry laughed nervously, more than a little uncomfortable by the look in Hermione's eyes. "Alchemy is more or less the science of turning one thing into another. Not exactly like Transfiguration—though it can be considered almost a distant branch of it. There are certain rules that apply to Transfiguration that don't apply to Alchemy. It combines Muggle science, Potions, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy to form something new out of something old. That's more or less the simple explanation. Explaining it more in-depth would likely drive any student mad."

"I'm already insane. Try me," Hermione said, slightly peeved that he wouldn't say more.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, looking for the words to explain. "It's…complicated. The best I can tell you is the application of the background knowledge in Alchemy and how it's set up," Hermione nodded, signalling for him to go on. "Well Potions and Muggle chemistry make up the basic composition of the items being transmuted. If you don't have the right ingredients, you can't get the right result. Muggles got as far as creating chemistry when they began Alchemy, and from there it kind of faded. Wizards, on the other hand, have never really given it up because of all the magical ingredients out there and their interactions based on different variables and settings, etcetera. So the basis of most Alchemy uses knowledge of those two topics.

"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy tend to apply to the more magical side of things. Different Runes set in patterns can change the results drastically. Arithmancy is needed to be able to accurately place the Runes in accordance with the time of year, the setting, a whole host of variables that depend on what you're doing. It takes a long time to figure out most of the things required to successfully transmute something. More often than not Alchemists end up accidentally creating spells through the course of their work, than actually producing the results required. That's the best I can explain it right now," he finished, hoping Hermione had followed.

What he had told her was only part of the truth, however. It was the portion that the general public was allowed to know. The other part included something very similar to Transfiguration, but quicker and with fewer restrictions. When something needed to be transmuted quickly, an Alchemist who had the secret knowledge could successfully transmute it in less than thirty seconds, using a basic runic circle. The transmuted object would work as it was supposed to, as was often not the case in Transfiguration. Transfiguration could…say, turn paper into coal, but the coal wouldn't burn as natural coal would—instead it would take on the properties of the paper and burn much quicker. If an Alchemist used a runic circle, all the paper would be coal in every single way, taking on its properties as well as its appearance. That was why it remained a secret—too much damage could be done with such knowledge and it contained the risk of completely obliterating Transfiguration, which still had its uses despite its limitations. The only true limit to Alchemy was that of transmuting living things. Harry could turn sand into an emerald, but he couldn't turn a magpie into a cat, or sand into a cat. It just wasn't possible.

The girl sitting in front of him was certainly unaware of the secrets in Alchemy. Instead, she took up the majority of his time at the party by asking him questions about Alchemy at first, then branching off into a wide variety of topics. Harry found this discussion to be vaguely interesting, though he wasn't exactly in the mood for socializing. When the twins arrived back from their illicit trip to Hogsmeade, Harry talked with them for a bit before taking his leave, knowing that he really wouldn't be missed.

* * *

When Harry awoke the next morning, he found that his testing schedule had been slipped under the door overnight. Shrugging, he skimmed it, seeing that his first exam was the next day (Herbology) and that all his exams were spaced out quite evenly, giving him plenty of time to do whatever he wanted. He suspected that the staff wanted him to study the material, but he honestly couldn't care less. He was doing everything above his grade level as it was, and by now most of the knowledge was ingrained in his being…though he suspected that Herbology might give him a _touch _of trouble, enough ingredients were used in potions that it shouldn't be too bad. 

Instead, Harry spent his off time exploring Hogwarts, mapping it out mentally in his mind. After finding the library on his own (he had refused to ask anyone, determined to find his way around), he chose to spend mornings exploring and afternoons when he didn't have exams in the library. In the evening he alternated between practicing magic, reading for pleasure, or reading another dusty old tome from the library. During mealtimes he alternated sitting at each table, not really talking to anyone but experiencing the atmosphere of highly stressed students, which was rather enlightening, though he would have preferred to take meals in his room. There was not much for it, though.

Harry had begun his exams and had found them, so far, to be suspiciously easy. Either the curriculum at Hogwarts wasn't nearly as good as everyone claimed, or he had underestimated his knowledge levels on each subject. As of yet, he felt confident in the four exams he had taken (Herbology, History of Magic, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes) and wasn't too worried about the rest, though he highly suspected he'd be sticking to magic without a wand for the practical exams involving magic—his magic with a wand was _still_ a bit too sporadic and he felt more comfortable pretending he was using a wand as opposed to actually using one.

In fact, one afternoon a week and a half after Harry's arrival at Hogwarts, Harry found himself standing outside the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting to be let in by the Professor. He was quite confident that he would find his exam to be disgustingly easy, what with all the training Nicholas had forced him to attend, and was rather relaxed.

It was only a minute until his exam was due to start when a rather harried man came walking quickly down the corridor, making his way to Harry's side. His robes were in poor condition, and he looked as if he was perpetually tired. However, he did carry his wand in a holster, Harry observed, noticing the tell-tale shape of the sleeve to display it. He had yet to really see this Professor around the school, as it appeared he avoided meals quite often.

"Sorry I'm late," the man breathed. "Professor Lupin," he said offering his hand. He then unlocked the door, gesturing for Harry to enter first. Following him, he closed the door behind the two of them and set his briefcase on the teacher's desk. "What would you like to start with, Mr. Flamel? We can begin with either the practical or the theoretical—your choice. You did ask for something above graduate level, no?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied politely. "Could we begin with the theoretical please?"

The professor nodded, grabbing a scroll of parchment from his briefcase and handing it to Harry. "I'm sure you're quite familiar with these by now," he grinned, handing Harry an anti-cheating quill. Harry took it without comment, though offered the professor a small smile, though at the same time staring intently at the man's magical aura with his Magic Sight. Something was off with it…it was almost _tainted_.

"Please take a seat in front of my desk. I'll just be grading some papers, don't mind me," Lupin said, before seating himself behind his desk. "Oh, and you have two hours," he added, before taking out his own papers to mark.

Ignoring the puzzle of Lupin's aura for now, Harry sped through the test, pausing here and there to add a more detailed answer or two. He finished it in half the allocated time, stretching out a cramp in his hand. Truly, the only reason he had hurried was because he had a fascinating book back in his room he'd really like to get through.

"Professor?" Harry said, breaking the silence that had previously only been interrupted by the scratching of his quill. "I'm finished."

"So soon?" Lupin asked, surprised. "Did you find it too difficult to handle?"

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Almost every Professor so far had asked him that when he had finished an exam in less than the allocated time. He restrained himself from a biting retort and instead said, "Not at all, sir. I'm merely a quick thinker."

Lupin nodded, still looking a bit doubtful but leaving it alone for now. "Okay, let's get on with your practical then. You've actually got two choices for this one. You can either duel me, or we can Floo over to the Auror Academy and get one of their students to duel you. It's up to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Seeing his expression, Lupin hastily added, "You won't be expected to beat us, of course. You only last long enough to display your skill and knowledge."

"No, it's alright Professor. I'm not too worried about that… I must say, though, it's a bit unusual for an exam at Hogwarts, isn't it?" Harry didn't actually know if that was the case, but if he was guessing accurately—and he was pretty sure he was—someone had decided he needed more of a challenge. Whoever that had been, Harry owed them a large thank you for finding a way to alleviate his boredom.

"No, it _is_ quite unusual…" Lupin agreed. "I believe Professor Snape suggested this method of testing—said he'd spoken with you," he gave Harry a sharp glance, silently asking for confirmation.

"Oh, so _that_ was what it was about," Harry said, thinking quickly on his feet. "He asked me at dinner a couple days ago what I'd prefer: to duel a professor or to duel an Auror. I said it didn't really matter at the time, I think. As long as they weren't trying to kill me, of course."

Lupin nodded, though he still looked slightly suspicious. "Alright then. But could you please make a decision now?"

"The Auror, sir. No offence, meant."

"None taken," Professor Lupin replied genially. "I'm a bit rusty on my duelling anyways." He led Harry to his office and activated the Floo, giving Harry his instructions. "Just say 'Auror Academy of England' and you're there. I'll follow."

Harry wanted to protest that—he wanted the Professor to go first, but realized it wouldn't really matter anyways. If there was something that there wasn't supposed to be on the other end of the Floo, he wouldn't know either way if the Professor went first or he did. Taking the handful of Floo powder offered to him, Harry quickly recited the words and found himself spinning through the system.

He came out the other end, coughing up soot. Floo was possibly his least favourite method of travel, and it just had to be the cheapest one. Annoying, that. Lupin came out the other end, brushing dust off his clothing before leading Harry down a hallway, where Harry assumed he would be taking the test.

"Harry, this is Auror Tonks," Remus said as he led Harry into the room. "She's finishing up her third year of Auror training next month."

Harry shook the hand that was offered, not even doing a double take when the witch in front of him changed her hair colour from a vivid electric blue to an equally bright pink. "More or less I'm the only one with some off time right now to study for my exams—otherwise you would have probably been stuck with some idiot from first year," the witch said brightly. "By then they haven't weeded out the serious from the fickle."

Harry nodded, not really knowing what to say. He did, however, find it rather odd that they had been expecting him. Wasn't he supposed to have chosen between the two and _then_ informed the Auror Academy of his choice? Was he that easy to read after only a few days at Hogwarts? Perhaps…but no. If he asked to duel both at once he would probably be falling right into what they wanted him to do; it was clear that they expected him to go for the toughest challenge available.

"So…shall we begin?" asked Tonks.

"Rules first, for you too, Tonks," Lupin said, answering her pout with a stern glare. "No Dark Arts—"

"But what's defined as Dark Arts, sir?" Harry interrupted. "Because there are plenty of spells classified as Dark Arts that aren't harmful in any way."

"We can discuss this later," Lupin said, looking thoughtful. "For now, keep it strictly to what the Ministry allows—we _are_ in a Ministry funded building, after all." Harry nodded his assent as did Tonks.

Lupin continued, "Obviously, no Unforgivables or anything that would cause permanent damage. To win, your opponent will have to either be disarmed or unconscious."

Again, the two nodded, before beginning the duel.

* * *

Remus Lupin was very rarely confused. He had too much to keep up with in his life to afford to be. Everything from the lunar cycle to the last time the Headmaster left the school, Remus had to be aware and alert. There was no telling what could go wrong. He was, of course, a werewolf, but his inner beast tended to be a bit more volatile that most documented records. Maybe it had something to do with him contracting the bite when he was very young, he wasn't quite sure, but Remus did know that he could not afford to be angry, and therefore could not afford to be confused. If he was angered, he was likely to go feral. This was why he spent a lot of his free time sorting out any issues or problems he had before doing anything involving human interaction. He didn't want the slightest thing to set him off. 

However, this confusion was more of an annoyance than anything else. It was all centered on the young boy, not even fourteen, who looked so unshakably familiar—but he could not place _who_ he looked like. Remus, being a man who didn't like to dwell, did_not_ want to go through all the photographs he owned looking for the owner of that face—for he knew that he recognized it. The knowledge was at the back of his brain, trying to wiggle out.

Even the boy's self-confidence reminded him of someone. The way his eyes glittered sharply when making a statement, the intelligence they portrayed…it was puzzling, to say the least.

As Remus settled down to watch the duel between Harold and Tonks, he let his mind wander on the connection between his memories and Harold's face, letting it work out the problem while he monitored the duel. He expected that both would play fair, though Harry's question about the Dark Arts had thrown him off guard. It was true that classifying something as dark rarely meant that it was _evil_ or harmful…just not exactly within the boundaries of the law. He himself was classified as a dark creature, yet he had fought solidly on the light side during the last war.

Tonks and Harold bowed to each other, both raising their wands. Remus signalled for them to begin, and just watched. He had no idea what to expect from Harold, though he knew the boy felt confident, and was astonished when at first the two were evenly matched. Harold was barely moving his wand or uttering the incantations, which marked a possible talent in magic without a wand, though the boy probably had no idea. Probably.

The two traded spells back and forth, neither really landing a hit, before Harold got a good temporary blindness spell in on Tonks. However, Tonks was a rather adept Auror-trainee, if a bit of a klutz. She was able to fire off a spell or two in Harold's general direction, but he closed in on her much faster. Dodging around the random spell, Harold kept himself quiet enough that he grabbed Tonks' wand right out of her hand.

He raised the wand victorious, though seconds later Tonks had tackled him to the ground, sensing his presence and was wrestling him for it. Remus rose quickly from the chair he had been judging from, pulling the two apart with the advantage of his extra strength. He was staring at Harry wide-eyed, not really taking in the fact that a thirteen year old boy had beat a third year Auror trainee. It was unheard of!

Both Harry and Tonks were panting. The latter was glaring at the former, obviously resenting her defeat. Seeing the look, Harry appeased her.

"I wouldn't have won if it'd been a _real_ fight," Harry said.

The Auror still grumbled her annoyance. "Who taught you to duel like that?" she asked. "I barely recognize that spell you used on me at the last—the last time I heard that it was also being cast on me by old Mad-Eye Moody."

"Er… well, Moody did, Auror Tonks," Harry replied. At the astonished looks of Lupin and Tonks, he added "He and Nicholas were old friends and Nicholas asked him to give a hand with my tutoring."

"Impressive," muttered Lupin. "Well, while I can't exactly tell you whether you passed the practical or not, I'd say that the wand in your hand speaks for itself."

Harry, who had forgotten he held Tonks's wand, hastily returned it to her. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I won't mention the duel to anyone—probably won't help your training much if it gets out."

Tonks nodded. "Though, I suppose that if they knew you'd been trained by Mad-Eye himself it'd be different. As it stands, you are quite good for someone your age," she added with a cheeky grin, changing her own hair to Harry's black and white.

"Looks better on me," Harry said, pouting. He liked this bubbly Auror, who had gotten over her loss to Harry rather quickly, something he liked. Not too much pride.

Harry sped through the last of his exams rather quickly, doing well in all of them. The easiest had by far been potions—he figured the Potions Master was underestimating him again—and the one he had found the most challenging had definitely been Transfiguration, as he much preferred Alchemy to accomplish anything involving transmutations and transformations.

He hadn't really wanted to change the kitten he had been provided with into a pig, and had instead claimed fatigue and asked to turn a parrot into a mouse instead. He had probably lost marks for that, but the tiny black kitten he had gained instead was definitely worth it. Some aspect of him found birds and rodents to be more annoying than anything, though he personally found cats to be highly intelligent. The Flamels had never let him have a pet before, and he felt the small kitten was perfect, though he wasn't quite sure what he'd name it yet.

His last exam was Astronomy, taken at midnight from the tower, which faced the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. Harry had barely begun his star chart when a flicker of magic caught his eye. He had his Magic Sight set a bit higher—it allowed him to see the stars a bit easier—and he had definitely seen three or four flashes down by the large hut. Angling his telescope towards the scene, he ignored his Professor's commands to turn the telescope to face the sky once more.

A shocking scene met his eyes: two figures, likely one of the twins' brothers and another figure were running towards a large tree whose limbs were waving quite violently in the wind. They appeared to be chasing after something, another small flash of magic, until a large, dark shape appeared almost out of nowhere. Also magical, it knocked down the red-headed figure and began dragging it towards the tree.

Harry knew he owed the twins quite a bit. The two of them had been among his first friends and he knew that they would be devastated at the loss of _any_ of their siblings, even Percy. He knew that he had to do right by his friends and attempt to help, though he didn't know how. He didn't want to have to play hero…but it was something he had to do.

He quickly sprinted down from the Tower, ignoring the professor's shouts to return. He called back a quick "Sorry, emergency!" before dashing off down several flights of steps to the Entrance Hall. He exited the school at a run, ignoring the portraits yelling at him to "Slow down!" and pushing the large doors open. For the first time he was glad that he had gone through those physical fitness routines while at the Flamels, not really seeing him using them practically up until now. He much preferred the library to rescue missions.

Following his memories viewing the 'kidnapping attempt' through the telescope, Harry made his way past the large hut on the grounds, nearly tripping on the uneven ground as he ran. He stopped in front of the tree, seeing no sign of the events that had occurred aside from the violent tree.

A figure darted out from under a tree. "Mr. Flamel?" It was Severus Snape.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked, breathing a sigh of relief. He had had a curse at his finger tips just in case.

"Get back to the school."

"No," Harry replied bluntly. "I owe Fred and George Weasley. That was definitely a member of their family that went in there. I'm not leaving."

Snape stared at him for a long time, taking in Harry's stubbornness. "Gryffindor or Slytherin, Mr. Flamel?"

"Slytherin," Harry replied, knowing that Snape was asking his motives for doing this. Not only did Harry owe the Weasley twins, but he also didn't want to be on the opposing end of their pranks once he ended up in a house that wasn't Gryffindor.

The professor nodded, before motioning for Harry to follow him. He picked up a large branch from the ground, just out of reach of the violent tree, and pressed a knot on its bark. The tree instantly froze and Harry found himself following Snape into a secret passage.

They came out in a large dusty room, where it looked as if something had recently been dragged. Following the trail, Harry and Snape made their way to a door, pushing it open but staying back. No one noticed. Harry slipped inside, not caring that his hair was getting tangled with cobwebs, while mentally preparing a runic circle to draw quickly if necessary. He really needed to prepare some in advance…

There were five magical beings in the room. The first was Ron, lying on a bed in obvious pain. His leg was the source, already bandaged. The second was in his hands, a small rat that was struggling against Ron's grip. The third was Neville, who stood over Ron grasping his wand with a tight grip and pointing it at the two other people in the room: Professor Lupin and large black dog, almost grim like in appearance.

The dog, obviously an animagus by its magic, turned back into a human, to display the infamous face of Azkaban Prison escapee, Sirius Black.

"James?" a raspy voice asked, looking pale and weak. "You're alive?"

Lupin stared at him, hard. Golden eyes met green, and suddenly Remus knew. "Not James. Harry Potter."

Abruptly, two stunning spells hit both men in the chest, coming from directly behind Harry.

Then the shouting began.

**Author's Notes (again):** _Credit goes to _**sambee**_ for the idea of the twins betting pool! Thank you! Well, I know the first little bit was a tad filler, but I figured you all ought to know some of the Alchemical processes working with this story. Though I suppose you must have forgotten it considering the meetings that occur afterwards. Sorry about the notable absence of Slytherins, but I figured they wouldn't want to talk to Harry anyways at this point in time shrug. That's my best excuse.__ Anyways, hope you enjoyed that extra-long chapter (5000 words)! R&R!_


	12. Ignorance is Bliss

**Disclaimer:** Own Harry Potter, I do not. Own all my plot ideas and anything that doesn't fall under the category of 'what-will-get-me-eaten-alive-by-Rowling's-lawyers,' I do.

**Author's Notes:** _Thank you all so much for all the brilliant reviews! Sorry about the cliff-hanger last chapter, I just couldn't resist. Besides, one in eleven chapters isn't that bad…Anyways, here's chapter twelve, a bit longer than usual to make up for the longer-than-usual wait after that horrible cliff-hanger. I would have had the chapter out much sooner, but I unfortunately suffered from a bout of migraines this week. If any of you have ever had a migraine, you'd know the last thing you want to do is stare at a screen that feels as if it's emitting as much light as the sun. Anyways, hope you all enjoy this chapter and the lovely dosage of Snape within!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Ignorance is Bliss**

Severus Snape was a suspicious man. He suspected everyone and everything of misdeeds, from large to small, and he was often right, though he did dislike the fact that he was often right about others' larger misdeeds. This was most likely why he took the chance to snoop when dropping off Lupin's potion in his office. Well, that, and the fact that Lupin was a werewolf and had been a friend of the Azkaban escapee and mass-murderer Sirius Black.

Lupin himself was not in, something Severus found to be very surprising. The man tended to spend as much time in his office as possible the night before the full moon, so that he would not disturb anyone should he have miscalculated the moon phases and times. His caution was what made him barely tolerable, though Severus could not help disliking the man. As it was, the fact that he was not in his office so close to the full moon was a warning sign to Severus.

Lupin's office was meticulously clean, almost as if he never used it. Several Dark Arts detectors stood on his desk, none of them lighting up. Severus was extremely surprised that he actually had them, as they were likely to go off while Lupin was in the office and it was close to the full moon. Next to a large stack of parchment, the third year's exams, an aging piece of parchment was spread out, showing a map of Hogwarts. It was surprisingly detailed, and when Severus peered closer he could clearly see a dot labelled as 'Albus Dumbledore' pacing in its office. Eyes widening, he searched further, this time looking for Lupin.

He had probably stared at the map for at least fifteen minutes before he found the tiny dot labelled as 'Remus Lupin.' It was standing inside the Whomping Willow, beside Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and two others that Severus dared not believe to be true. Yet, there it was in plain black and white—Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

Severus had a fierce hatred for the Marauders, his tormentors while in school. Yet, he was loyal to Dumbledore and knew what it meant if Peter Pettigrew was still alive—and that Dumbledore would want him to step in to find the evidence to prove Black innocent. As much as he loathed the man, he respected Dumbledore far more, and knew without a doubt what he would have to do, as much as he disliked the idea. He would have to save Black _and_ Pettigrew, proving the escaped convict to be innocent. He nearly snarled at the thought.

Quickly, he exited Lupin's office and headed out of the castle towards the Whomping Willow. He stood in the shadows, procrastinating entering the tunnel. He had nearly been killed in this spot twenty years ago…it was not a pleasant thought in the slightest. He stood there for what felt like ages, wrestling his fear into submission.

It was from those same shadows he observed Harold Flamel attempt to access the Whomping Willow. Somehow the boy had found out about whatever was going on in there, he knew it. A small part of him wanted to berate the boy, but a much larger part saw much of his own curiosity reflected in the boy's eyes. The thought of someone else with him, no matter how cowardly the thought was, reassured him enough to step out of the shadows and face Flamel.

"Mr. Flamel?" he asked, stepping out of the shadows carefully as to not startle the boy.

"Yes, professor?" Flamel responded, not really displaying any shock at seeing him there. Severus thought he saw a spark in Flamel's hand, however, but when he looked again it was gone.

Severus hesitated slightly, before saying, "Get back to the school." While he had mixed motives about having the poor boy come along with him, it really wasn't good form to encourage a student to tag along to hunt down a dangerous fugitive and a werewolf.

"No," Flamel replied bluntly. Severus almost smirked in triumph at the boy's defiance of authority, but suppressed it almost as soon as the urge had come. "I owe Fred and George Weasley. That was definitely a member of their family that went in there. I'm not leaving."

Severus stared at Flamel. He hadn't been aware that the boy was friends with those two trouble makers, though it certainly fit his dislike for authority. He was an interesting character…a social outcast by choice, though he kept a few friends. Flamel had an inquisitive mind, was stubborn, hard-working, and cunning. A mix of all houses…he probably ought to start a betting pool in the staff lounge.

"Gryffindor or Slytherin, Mr. Flamel?" Severus decided on asking, checking the boy's motives. If he was going in just to say he had fought a werewolf and won—or, more likely that not, lost—then Severus would send him back to the castle, fears be damned.

"Slytherin," Flamel replied, staring at Severus as if asking him to challenge his response. Severus didn't, though he was sorely tempted to. He knew the boy was mostly going in because he was friends with the twins—not that he had some deep, dark, ulterior motive as most Slytherins did.

"Follow me, Mr. Flamel," he said, picking up a branch and touching it to a knob on the tree. He led the boy into the dark tunnel, careful not trip over anything or display his fear at seeing this place again in front of the boy. It was probably the one and only time he'd ever be grateful that James Potter had actually been alive back then…

Snape shook his head as if to clear away the memories, and then began talking to Flamel. "There's a high possibility that we'll be confronted with a werewolf, Mr. Flamel. I'm sure you're not aware, but Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and I'm afraid that he's at the end of this tunnel right now. Tonight is a full moon."

Flamel nodded, not even fazed by this information. "So _that's_ what that was," he muttered, almost too low for Severus to catch. His words didn't make much sense to Severus, who simply filed it away in his brain as 'information that doesn't help to explain the puzzle of Harold Flamel.' Most unfortunately, he had a rather large amount of memories such as those.

"There is also a high possibility that there will be one, if not two, escaped convicts in the room."

"Oh?" Flamel asked. Severus could almost picture him raising one eyebrow simply from the inflection in his tone.

"Sirius Black. And one of the people he allegedly murdered—Peter Pettigrew. So if you would like to return to the castle, I highly advise doing so now." Severus almost cursed himself to sending the boy away, but he knew that no matter how many terrible memories he had of this damn place, it was no situation to place a thirteen-year-old in.

"And you know this _how_, sir?" Flamel asked, stopping in the tunnel. Severus paused with him, knowing just how suspicious it sounded. He stared hard at Flamel, his eyes straining through the darkness (he had refused to use a light spell, and the boy hadn't protested). He could have sworn that there was a flicker of light in the place where Flamel's hand was, but when he looked again that elusive flicker was gone. He must be imagining things.

"The professors have a way to keep track of who's on the grounds of the castle," he said, not admitting to finding such a map. If any student knew about it, it would be the one in front of him, having heard of it from the Weasley twins. He would likely do anything to access it—most students would.

He couldn't see the nod that Flamel gave, but it was clear he accepted this situation when he continued walking, ignoring Severus.

"Who else is at the end of this tunnel?" Flamel asked abruptly, several minutes later.

"Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley," Severus replied, not seeing any reason to withhold this information. It wasn't as if the two of them were dangerous in any way and Severus had already listed the three main dangers of this jaunt. It was unlikely the boy would turn around now.

Flamel did not reply, instead quickening his pace. Severus did not know what exactly it was in reaction to. Was it the fact that the Longbottom boy was there, or the youngest male Weasley? Or perhaps both? He highly doubted that Flamel was friends with Weasley, as their personalities would clash, but then again, he did not know the boy apart from a few in-depth intellectual debates. Still, it was much more likely he was friends with Longbottom, but even that didn't make much sense to Severus. He hated enigmas.

They arrived in the basement of an old building, dust coating everything. Severus had never made it this far down the tunnel before—he had been stopped by Potter before even entering the dusty building. There was a large streak in the middle of the floor, as if something heavy had been dragged to clear away the dust. Footprints were also evident, as were a few paw prints.

Severus bent down, looking closely at the paw prints. "These aren't werewolf tracks."

"Good, he hasn't changed yet. I thought the moon hadn't risen yet, but I wasn't sure," Flamel stated matter-of-factly.

The two of them walked slowly up the stairs. Severus winced as they creaked, but he followed the clean trail among the dust anyways. At the top of the stairs a door was halfway ajar, spilling light into the corridor. Before Severus could stop him, Flamel was in the room. He quickly followed, just in time to hear words he thought he would never _ever_ hear.

"James?" the voice was raspy and much older than Severus remembered, but he still recognized it. "You're alive?"

Severus's brain was racing, putting the pieces together. That niggling sense of familiarity, that wariness around him…

Another voice, this one much more easily recognized. "Not James. Harry Potter," Remus Lupin stated calmly.

Severus could barely think. Too many revelations, too many shocks…he reacted in instinct. He shot two stunning spells towards Lupin and Black, not even taking in the fact that two more followed his, coming directly from the boy in front of him. He turned his wand onto Flamel—no, Potter—and was about to cast another stunner before he was disarmed.

Severus stared as Potter pointed his wand at him and moved him towards the other side of the room. Instead of letting his thoughts consume him, he began to sort them out in his mind. _This_ was James Potter's _son_? It was absolutely ridiculous, entirely unheard of. The boy was practically the antithesis of all that James had been…it was as if they were only genetically the same and otherwise someone had messed around with the personality gene to create someone so much like Severus himself it was startling. If anything, the boy was more like Lily had been…

Severus just couldn't accept it. It was impossible that the boy pointing the wand at him was James Potter's son.

* * *

Harry was breathing hard, not from exertion but from the rush of adrenaline that had appeared upon the announcement of his true identity. Though he didn't want to acknowledge it, his primary emotion was fear. Fear of what would happen as a result of tonight; fear of what Dumbledore would do; fear of the reactions of his few friends.

He pointed his wand at Snape and gestured for him to move towards another one of the ruined four posters in the room, seeing as Ron was lying on the first. He ignored the shouting coming from Ron and Neville, their exclamations at his identity, and instead cast a silencing charm on Ron, using Snape's wand instead of his own, not giving away his abilities. Neville quickly quieted, staring wide-eyed at his friend.

"Harry, what—"

"Not now, Neville," Harry said impatiently. "Could you just do me a favour and tell me what's going on in here? Then we'll deal with the rest." _If I _can_deal with the rest;_ Harry added mentally and refused to think any further. Merlin, this was such a disaster!

"Well Ron and I were just visiting Hagrid and as we were leaving Scabbers—that's his rat, Harry—ran from his hands towards the Whomping Willow. We followed, when a large black dog pounced on Ron. Oh, how could I forget! Sirius Black is an animagus! He's the black dog. Dunno what he wants with us…" Neville shuddered. "Seemed to be more interested in the rat. He started ranting about how Pettigrew was an animagus and how he was framed, and that's when you came in and he thought you were James Potter…"

Harry nodded. "Alright then. Damage control," he said, grimacing. "You said he thought that the rat was Pettigrew?"

Neville nodded. "But he'd dead, isn't he?"

"Ought to be," Harry replied, looking thoughtful. He knew the story of his parents' murder very well. Sirius Black had betrayed them, but had been hunted down by Peter Pettigrew. Black had blown up a street full of Muggles and all they had found of Pettigrew was a finger. Black had been immediately sent to Azkaban, no trial given.

However…if Black's ramblings had some sense of truth in them and Peter Pettigrew was in this room right now, a lot would have to be rethought. If it was possible that Black wasn't as guilty as everyone had thought, and if that was the case there would be serious ramifications. There was one way to check; the spell to reverse animagus transformations and a vial of Veritaserum. He had the first, but the second…

Harry turned to Snape. "Do you have Veritaserum on you, Professor?" he asked, hoping the man would ignore the fact that he was being held at wand point.

Snape sneered. "Of course."

"Place it on the floor in front of Neville," Harry ordered, keeping his wand pointed straight at the Potions Master. "Then back away slowly."

Snape did as ordered, glaring at Harry all the while. Harry ignored him in favour of watching his actions and making sure that he didn't pull out another wand or something equally as deadly.

"Thank you, Professor. Neville, could you please hand it to me?" the boy did as asked, bringing the crystal clear vial to Harry. Before taking it Harry scanned it briefly by turning up his Magic Sight level. This way he would be able to tell if there was any magic there keyed to him or something of the sort, as it was very likely that Snape could do a bit of magic without a wand.

The vial was clean. Harry took it and sniffed it. It was Veritaserum—the consistency was correct, there was no odour, and it was perfectly clear. There was nothing else to show it for what it truly was that was readily accessible to him, so he would just have to trust the Potions Master as much as possible considering the situation.

Harry used Snape's wand to summon the rat towards him, mentally cringing as he did so. He absolutely _loathed_rodents. Probably some suppressed childhood incident or something similar… As it was, he half hoped that this rat wouldn't really be a rat—then it wouldn't be nearly as torturous to hold one.

He placed the rat on the floor, stunning it as soon as it left his grip. The thing had been struggling in his hand for a long time now. He kept one wand pointed at Snape and the other on the rat. He quickly incanted the spell to reverse the animagus transformation, keeping a close eye on as he did so. A first nothing happened, but several seconds later the rat was a balding forty-something year old man.

Neville was the first to notice. "Harry—"

"Not now Neville," replied Harry, who was staring intently at the man who had caused so much misery in his life.

"But—"

"It's alright Neville," came a quiet voice from behind Harry. "I won't attack him. He's helped prove what Sirius and I have been trying to tell you. But, I do have to wonder, did Severus never teach you that Werewolves have a greater resistance to stunning spells and generally wake up much sooner than your average witch or wizard?"

Harry had spun around at the sound of Remus Lupin's voice, wand pointed at Remus instead of Snape. Snape made as if to lunge for his wand, but Harry already had the spell to incarcerate him in ropes out of his mouth before the man could do anything.

"I won't do anything, Harry. I do want to speak with you, however, once this is all over…I knew your parents."

"Which means you knew both Pettigrew and Black. Please, Lupin, you're as much involved as they are."

Snape snarled from within his bonds. "I knew that you were helping Black into the castle!" He began ranting. It appeared as if he had been bottling up all his hatred for years now. "I told the Headmaster over and over again you could not be trusted, but he—"

He had been cut off mid sentence by a well placed silencing spell from Harry. "I just want to get to the bottom of this. I'll be interrogating Pettigrew now. I suppose you're all witnesses or something." He took the vial of Veritaserum and carefully pried open Pettigrew's mouth, placing three drops inside. The whole time he kept his magic barely leashed, wary of both professors, Ron, and even Neville.

"Ennervate," he intoned, waking Pettigrew.

"What is your full name?" Harry asked, standing in front of Pettigrew and leaving only Neville at his back.

"Peter Percival Pettigrew," was the reply, all inflection erased from his voice.

"Were you the Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter?" he asked, jumping right into it.

Pettigrew didn't even put up a fight. "Yes."

"Did you betray their location to Voldemort?" A gasp came from Neville at the use of Voldemort's name without any of the euphemisms, but it was quickly silenced by Pettigrew's prompt response.

"Yes."

Harry refrained himself from asking why, though he was sorely tempted to do so. It wasn't relevant, however, and he knew he had to finish with this so that he could deal with the repercussions of the revelation of his identity. Proving a man innocent and another guilty at the same time was just a bonus.

"Did Sirius Black kill all those Muggles on the first of November in 1981?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"I did."

"How did you frame him?"

"I shouted that he had betrayed Lily and James before blowing up the whole street and transforming into a rat. I cut off my finger before doing that, so it looked like I was dead."

Harry stunned him again, disgusted. It looked as if his animagus form truly suited him.

"What do we do with him?" he asked, looking at Lupin.

"Bring him to Dumbledore, he'll know what to do," the professor replied, slightly startled at the vehemence in Harry's voice.

"No. I'll take him to the Ministry. Not Black as well—they'll probably have the Dementors give him the Kiss on sight. The name Flamel has some pull there."

Lupin looked as if he was about to protest, but stopped at the look Harry gave him.

"Look, Lupin. I know you want to deal out justice and whatnot, but as you have correctly surmised, they were _my_ parents. It would be better if Black were free instead of killing the man he was initially accused of murdering."

Lupin nodded, agreeing with Harry's points. "I never did want to become a murderer, anyways. He's your godfather, you know."

"Who, Pettigrew?" the disgust was evident in both Harry's face and his tone.

"No, Sirius. He broke out of prison to protect you… he never did figure out that you weren't in the school."

Harry nodded. "I'm afraid it'll be quite difficult for him to take custody. I've been emancipated on the condition that I attend Hogwarts until I'm seventeen. I would like to talk more with him, however, but we need to get Pettigrew to the Ministry first."

"How do you suggest we get him to the Ministry?" Lupin asked.

"I'll take him. I needed to go there anyways—have to place a complaint about Hogwarts' segregation system. Sorting people by personality…honestly," he added to himself, shaking his head. "Anyways, hopefully after hearing all this Professor Snape will be willing to take Neville and Ron back up to the school. I didn't exactly want to truss you up, Professor," he added to Snape. "I'll get rid of the spells in a minute," he added at Snape's glare, turning towards Lupin.

"The full moon is going to rise in about twenty minutes," Harry said, checking his watch.

"My potion!" Lupin exclaimed, paling. "I _knew_ I was forgetting something! Merlin…so many things could have gone wrong…"

Harry ignored Lupin's exclamation in favour of some advice. "I suggest that once I've left you awaken Sirius and have him transform into an animagus. Those theories—they _are_ right, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are," Lupin replied, calming. I'll do that."

"Good," Harry replied, nodding sharply. He turned his wand towards Snape. "Don't be too upset, Professor," he said candidly. "You'd have done the same in my place." He undid the spells and handed Snape his wand, watching the man warily.

"You and I will be having a discussion of proper conduct in my office tomorrow evening, Flamel. Don't be late."

Harry nodded, ignoring the fact that Snape had chosen to ignore the fact that he was of Potter descent. That would help his damage control considerably.

After requesting that Ron not begin shouting once more, he also undid the spells on the boy. He was rather pale, whether from pain in his poorly bandaged leg or due to the revelations of the evening.

"I'd like to ask all of you not to talk about what you've learnt about me tonight. I know it's tough. The world's been looking for me for years now. But I can't. I'd be too tempting of bait for Voldemort's followers and they'd flock straight to Hogwarts. Let me remind you that inviting evil beings into a school where children are present is not the best idea. So please…I'll discuss it with all of you at a later date…but right now please don't spread it around. Not even to the Headmaster, not yet."

No one protested, though Harry privately thought that he'd probably have to Obliviate Ron. He was a bit too hung up on fame and such to be aware when he was letting the beans spill, but with a younger sister would hold true to Harry's threat for a few months, at least. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to Obliviate any of the others. Neville was quiet and unlikely to truly make a big deal out of it. Lupin and Black had known his parents and he wouldn't know one iota about them if they didn't know he was their son. And Snape…well, Snape was Snape and Harry rather liked the rude professor, as much as it pained him to admit.

Snape, Neville, and Ron all left the room before he did, Neville supporting Ron as best as he was able. Harry stared at Lupin for a few minutes before leaving himself, levitating the body of Pettigrew behind him. He planned on simply pulling his hood up and Apparating to the Apparation point in front of the Department of Law Enforcement. Not that they had to know he could Apparate, however, but he _was_ emancipated, after all.

So, instead of going out of the tunnel, Harry left through the front door of the old building. He closed it firmly behind him, knowing that it didn't really matter with a werewolf inside anyways. He noticed with some amusement that he had been inside the most haunted building in Britain, the Shrieking Shack, and hadn't been aware.

With a smile, Harry Apparated with a small pop to the Ministry, more or less ready for the chaos that he would be bombarded with upon stating his companion's name.

**Author's Notes: ** _Another end to another chapter! Midterms are this week so I don't know if I'll be able to meet my deadline of Friday, but I'll try my best! I can't believe I've completely forgotten to mention this, but if you want more information on updates, I usually post something in my profile. If I'm going to be late on an update, I usually put it there. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! R&R!_


	13. Trial and Error

**Disclaimer:** I had the most spectacular dream last night. I announced to the world that I actually owned Harry Potter. Then, of course, the dream turned into a nightmare when Rowling set her lawyers on me and I haven't been the same since…

**Author's Notes:** _Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I'm terribly sorry that this chapter was late, but between my workload and my absolutely horrid immune system, I haven't had that much time to write. I would have made this chapter longer, but I have the odd feeling that most of you would prefer to have the chapter sooner rather than later. Anyways, enjoy!_

News (Nov 23): _I've just created a forum on this site to use to answer questions (that don't spoil anything) so that everyone can see the answers. I'll also post information regarding reasons/excuses if a chapter is late. It's also a good place to discuss Harry Potter. The second topic includes me addressing many of the issues that have been brought to my attention about my fic (anything from Dumbledore to why Ginny's still alive...). This is probably temporary until I get a yahoo group. _

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Tria****l and Error**

Harry was bored.

No, he was beyond bored. Boredom had left him a long time ago and had turned into something worse, something far more unpleasant. Harry personally believed that he was of a fairly calm temperament, with a relatively cool head. But something about the Ministry just set him off. It honestly should not take that long to shove a suspected felon in a cell and tell the person he captured him "You can go, the Ministry will take care of this." No, nothing was ever that simple at this cursed place. Instead _he_ had to be interrogated, had to wait for _Pettigrew_ to be interrogated, and now he was waiting to be told whether he himself would be charged for placing false charges in an innocent man come back to life.

It was completely and utterly _backwards_.

Perhaps it was the fact that instead of going up the Ministry went down into the ground. Or maybe it was the feeling of claustrophobia that Harry had knowing that he was several floors underground and if the enchantments on the place failed he'd be dead. Or maybe, just_maybe_ it was because the damned Aurors didn't see fit to interrogate the suspicious resurfacing of a dead man. He knew that the government was corrupted, but _this much?_

He was tempted to go directly to the office of Amelia Bones, the Minister of Law Enforcement, and ask what was going on. He would if he wasn't allowed to go by the time most Ministry employees got off work. Fortunately for him—though perhaps not for Ms. Bones—that time was in less than twenty minutes. He sincerely wished that the Aurors would be a bit more competent with their time—most of them were fairly lax in their duties, ever since Voldemort's downfall several years ago. Only one Auror had been decent to him, and he had been the one leading the search for Sirius Black. It was utterly ridiculous.

"Mr. Flamel?" Harry turned around sharply at the sound, which was possibly the first polite noise he had heard towards him all day.

"Yes?" he replied, glancing at the aging woman in surprise. "Are you here to tell me I'm about to be interrogated for brining in a suspicious case?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "So _that's_ what they've been telling you?" she mumbled to herself. "No, Mr. Flamel. You'll be coming with me to my office, where we'll be having a little chat—minus interrogation methods."

"Of course, Director Bones," Harry replied, nodding and following as the woman lead him away from the waiting room.

"Good guess," she replied smiling, as she led him past a large array of cubicles. Harry shuddered at the few windows he saw. The faint tingle of magic around him and the knowledge that he had to travel down to get to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement saw the windows as a desperate attempt to cheer up a few of the Ministry employees—ignoring the fact that it was currently pouring outside the window.

"They're angling for a pay raise," Director Bones told him, noticing his attention to the windows.

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked, not really aware what she was talking about.

"The enchanters—the ones who do the windows. It always rains for weeks when they want a pay raise and turns into hurricanes if they don't get what they want. Probably the reason they're incredibly well paid."

Harry nodded, not really caring for this tidbit of information. He was far more interested in Amelia Bones herself, who had ruled the male-dominated Auror Corps with an iron fist for years. He wasn't too surprised, though, that she was getting involved in Pettigrew's case. It _was_ rather high profile, after all.

"Here we are," she said, ushering him into her office. It was surprisingly spartan, lacking any personal affects. "Tea?" she offered, conjuring a tea pot and two mugs.

"No thanks," Harry refused. Despite her genial attitude towards him, he didn't trust anyone from the Ministry not to spike his drink, and since potions didn't radiate enough magic for even his eyes to pick up, it was a bad idea at best to take food or drink from anyone he didn't trust.

She nodded, pouring herself a cup and taking a sip. "The Minister will be joining us in a few minutes. He was understandably _distressed_—" she emphasized, making a face—"at knowing that his predecessor had imprisoned an innocent man and let a murderer go free."

Harry nodded politely, knowing that she was probably editing the information for him. It was much more likely that the Minister had ranted and raved about how it was all a lie, until he had seen irrefutable evidence of the truth. Harry had studied Minister Fudge and his ways and knew him to be rather…stubborn, to put it nicely.

"Unfortunately," Director Bones continued on, "Minister Fudge was so enraged and shocked by the actions of Peter Pettigrew that he had the man Kissed by a Dementor, almost immediately after hearing his confession."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this, more than a little surprised and annoyed that the Ministry was _that_ incompetent. "I take it he didn't have a chance for a full trial, then?"

"I'm afraid not. However, we have sufficient evidence that Pettigrew was truly a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and to Sirius Black's innocence that a trial was hardly necessary—Veritaserum does have its uses, after all. Sirius Black has been given a full pardon and a bank draft—and no, the numbers are _not_ your concern—and the Minister himself would like to thank you personally."

Harry nodded, not in the least surprised that the Ministry thought it was okay for a case with 'sufficient evidence' to completely avoid having a trial. That was, after all, what they had done to Sirius Black in the first place. However, he did have to agree that Veritaserum offered some pretty sound proof and seeing as Pettigrew wouldn't be able to answer any of a court's questions _anyways_…

The fireplace to the left of Director Bones' desk lit with green flame, before someone came through. Harry had a curse on his finger tips before the fire had even flared to full height, though he restrained himself from casting before identifying the intruder.

"Ah, here's Minister Fudge now," Director Bones commented, nodding politely to the Minister who was busy straightening his lime green bowler hat. Harry relaxed his magic a bit, though he was still wary of the Minister. He was probably one of the most corrupt in recent history, and Harry didn't trust him enough not to be deep in the pockets of some Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah, Harold Flamel, I see," Fudge said jubilantly, offering his hand to Harry. He shook it, tensing his body in case of any unsuspected portkeys, but found nothing to be amiss. "Thank you for your doing your civic duty! Such an amazing young man, you are."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry answered politely.

"Tell me, how did you find Pettigrew?" Fudge asked, conjuring himself a chair and pouring himself a mug of tea from the set Director Bones had conjured.

Harry relaxed slightly at his words, knowing that this would be a very similar conversation—if not more placid—to the ones he had had with the Aurors. "It was an accident, really, Minister. I was talking with Ronald Weasley—his father works here at the Ministry, I believe—and we got onto the subject of pets. He mentioned to me that his family had owned his rat for nearly twelve years, and I found that to be a bit suspicious. After all, how long do rats live anyways? Certainly not twelve years, not if they're not magical, and this one certainly wasn't.

"I do admit to being slightly paranoid," Harry smiled ruefully, putting an act on for the Minister, who was nodding politely while sipping his tea, "And I cast the revealer charm for Animagi in a bout of curiosity. Of course, it came back positive. So, being naturally curious, I decided to use that curse to reverse the Animagus transformation—not before stunning him, of course. It was lucky I did, considering that it was Peter Pettigrew. I recognized him from the photographs in the _Daily Prophet_—you know, the ones telling the story of Sirius Black to keep the general public aware? I just knew that I had to bring him to the proper authorities, and, well, here we are," Harry finished, suppressing a grin. It appeared as if Fudge had taken to his false story quite well, and was nodding while smiling.

"Thank you once again, Harold—may I call you Harold?" Fudge asked. Harry barely disguised his distaste, but nodded anyways. It was always better to be on good terms with those in positions of authority than not.

"Of course," continued Fudge, "You'll be rewarded for your capture of such a dangerous criminal. A marvellous service to the public, that was! Order of Merlin, third class, and a bank draft, of course."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry responded politely, more surprised than anything. That was much more than he had expected—he had honestly thought that he would be interrogated, as opposed to being offered a reward and galleons! Perhaps it was to buy his silence that such a young boy had caught a criminal before they had?

Harry was right. "Of course, you'd prefer not to be mentioned in the_Daily Prophet_, wouldn't you?" Fudge asked, sweating slightly.

"No, no, of course not," Harry replied, though he honestly couldn't care less.

"Good," the Minister replied, trying not too sound too relieved and failing.

"Well, I ought to be getting back to Hogwarts," Harry said, standing.

"Yes, yes, of course," Fudge said, shaking Harry's hand once more. "Thank you once more, Harold."

"You're quite welcome, Minister," Harry replied, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Thank you once again, Director Bones," Harry said, nodding to the Director, before taking himself out of the office.

* * *

The next morning found Harry sitting at breakfast at the Gryffindor table, listening with half an ear to the Weasley twins as they regaled him with tales of their various pranks. His mind was still half on what he had to do the night before when he had gotten back from the Ministry, though he was paying enough attention to laugh in the appropriate spots. 

After returning the Ministry, Harry had Obliviated Ron Weasley, not daring to risk his loose lips. He had also set off an enchantment keyed to Ron, Neville, Lupin, Black, and Snape to keep them hushed up about his identity. It still allowed them to talk about it when they were around someone else who knew the secret, but prevented them from discussing it if someone was eavesdropping or it was insecure. Ron was still under it just in case someone decided to break the memory block, as a preventative measure. The spell itself was slightly illegal, of course, but no one had to know.

The worst had probably been the interrogation by Dumbledore. Harry had found himself escorted to Dumbledore's office as soon as the man had realized he was back in the school and forced to explain himself, though this time with Legilimency probes to add to the mix. His Occlumency skill was best, on average, and it took nearly everything Harry had to keep Dumbledore out. He had been forced to use extreme measures to prevent Dumbledore from reading his mind, simply by directing a shield charm outwards from his eyes, as the Headmaster required eye contact to see his memories. That in itself had been rather difficult, as Harry tended to keep that 'channel' closed so as not to set anything on fire or something similar by accident.

Harry would have rather had his conversation with Snape, which was sure to be interesting. However, he had had to owl the man after coming back late from the Ministry and knowing he'd be interrogated by Dumbledore to tell him that he wasn't able to come to discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss, asking if the next night was better. His reply had been a simple affirmation, and that was it.

Harry was brought back to himself by a pecking on his finger. He had been staring at his plate for a while now, not really noticing that Fred and George had stopped talking to him. An owl was perched on his plate, pecking at his food and occasionally his finger. In the middle of his eggs was a scrolled up parchment, probably containing the _Daily Prophet_.

Harry fished out a few nuts for the owl and fed him a piece of bacon before opening the _Daily Prophet_. He smiled in smug satisfaction at the article within.

_**Sirius Black Innocent;**_

_**Pettigrew Alive and to Blame!**_

_B__y Carry Carson_

_In a surprising turn of events, the Ministry's hunt for alleged mass-murder Sirius Black was called to a halt yesterday due to the revelation of new evidence regarding the case. This evidence presented itself in the form of Peter Pettigrew, long thought murdered by Black himself. Pettigrew confessed under Veritaserum to having killed all those that Black had been accused of murdering and also admitted to betraying the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _

_The Minister was astounded at the miscarriage of justice that had been performed during Minister Bagnold's Administration, and had Pettigrew given the Dementor's Kiss almost immediately after he had confessed to his horrible crimes. _

_Minister Fudge, has, of course, offered Black full compensation for his years in Azkaban and has dropped all charges. __Pettigrew's capturer wishes to remain anonymous, though the Minister mentioned was "quite pleased that the public was so willing to step forward and do their civic duty." An Order of Merlin, third class as well as the standard monetary award was given to whomever captured Pettigrew, as an encouragement for the public to continue to—_

_For more, see page 5._

_For a censored transcript of Pettigrew's interrogation, see page 7._

"What are you smirking at?" George asked, his attention turned back to Harry.

"Ah, the _Prophet_," Fred commented, spotting the newspaper in Harry's hand.

"Anything interesting?" George added.

"Oh, nothing. Just at the fact that Sirius Black is innocent, that's all."

"Sirius Black's innocent?" Fred exclaimed.

"Let's see that," George said, grabbing the paper out of Harry's hands.

Several other people had also heard Fred's loud exclamation and were also clamouring to read the paper. Harry smirked before getting up from the table, finished his breakfast.

He made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, taking his time. He knew that Lupin and Black—who had been hiding in Lupin's office for the past day or so—would want to know, but he also dreaded the offer that would come up. Probably something along the lines of living with Black, and frankly, he didn't want to. It didn't help that the man was emotionally unstable after years in Azkaban and would probably cling to Harry like a life-line. It wasn't the sort of relationship he wanted with _anyone_.

Sighing, he knocked on the office door and was ushered in. The first thing he noticed was a half-empty bottle of champagne sitting on the table, and a madly-grinning Sirius Black. Remus Lupin was there also, holding his own glass of champagne, despite it not even being nine in the morning yet.

"Harry!" he said happily. "Did you see? I'm free!"

Harry nodded politely, conjuring himself a chair. "Congratulations," he found himself saying, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Remus explained everything to me. But I don't know if he told you that, well, I'm your godfather."

"I know," Harry replied, nodding. "Professor Lupin told me."

"Call me Remus in private, Harry," Lupin replied. "I was a friend of your parents and you've earned the right."

"Alright, Remus," Harry said, nodding. This was getting odder and odder by the moment.

"So…" Sirius began awkwardly. "I want to invite you to live with me. I know you're probably very happy living with the Flamels right now—"

Harry shook his head. "You didn't explain?" he interrupted, looking at Remus.

Remus smiled apologetically. "I guess I forgot to, considering the events of that night."

Harry nodded. "Sirius, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel passed away last month. I've been an emancipated minor ever since."

"Oh," Sirius replied, crestfallen. "I guess you probably don't want to move in with me then."

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but I like the way I'm living now." At Sirius's dejected look, Harry added, "I'll come and visit, though. Holidays and summers," Harry promised, almost regretting it as soon as he said it. What was he doing? He didn't _need_ parental figures in his life.

Sirius grinned, taking a sip of champagne, has happy mood returned. "Great! Hey, do you want some champagne?"

"Er…no thanks," Harry replied, gazing warily at the champagne bottle. Who knew how haywire his magic would go if he got drunk or even slightly tipsy? He was almost positive he had read somewhere that witches and wizards who could do magic without a wand couldn't get drunk or their magic would go mad. Actually…he probably ought to test that out when he got home next week for the summer holidays.

"So, tell us about yourself, Harry!" Sirius encouraged, grinning at Harry. "I want to know all about my godson. Do you play Quidditch? Are you an Animagus yet? Do the Marauders live on?"

"Are you a good student?" Remus interjected for Sirius's sake.

"Marauders?" Harry asked. "And no to the first two."

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed, appearing scandalized. "No one's ever told you about the Marauders?"

"Er…no?" Harry answered, puzzled.

"Ah, those were the days…" Sirius trailed off, looking a bit glassy-eyed.

Remus just shrugged and explained for him. "Your father, Sirius, Pettigrew, and I enjoyed pranking quite a bit. We called ourselves the Marauders, each with their own nickname. James, Sirius, and Pettigrew became Animagi when they found out I was a werewolf, and from there we each got our nicknames. James was Prongs, Sirius Padfoot, the traitor was Wormtail—rather fitting—and I was Moony."

"What was my father's Animagus form?" Harry asked, fascinated in spite of himself.

"A stag. He was rather proud," Remus commented with a chuckle.

"Lily hated him for it," Sirius chimed in, knocked out of memory lane. "Took him until seventh year for her to stop hating him."

Harry spent the rest of the morning with the two Marauders, listening to their stories about his parents avidly, in a way he usually didn't unless reading a fascinating book. Deprived of parents for most of his life, he grasped at the little golden nuggets of knowledge offered to him, despite the fact that a large part of him was saying to ignore it and focus on the future, not the past. Harry ignored it, preferring to listen to the last two Marauders than annoying inner-voices.

* * *

**Secondary Disclaimer:** I took the idea of the enchantment Harry used on those who knew his secret from **nonjon**'s_Where in the World is Harry Potter?_ a fantastic fanfic, I must add. Got several good laughs from it ;-). 

**Secondary Author's Notes:** _Sorry this chapter wasn't on par with my recent chapter lengths. I've kind of rushed this one, so I certainly hope its okay!__I'll be addressing any issues/questions that you lot have at the end of next chapter (the stuff like why Snape's in denial, any confusion about Harry's eyes, etc.) so feel free to ask away. As always, hope you enjoyed it, and R&R!_


	14. Ouroboros

**Disclaimer:** The best hanukah gift in the world would have been ownership of Harry Potter…unfortunately, I'm not that lucky. Maybe next year?

**Author's Notes:** _I am so incredibly sorry for this drastically late update! Thank you for all the reviews, especially because my horrible lack of time management skills wasn't mentioned once . December was an awful month, it truly was…combined with 75 minute seminars, essays, various tests, and other work I really don't want to think about now that it's break…Not to make excuses and all (except for the fact that I obviously am)._

_Anyways, this chapter is longer than usual, as I felt I had to make up for the lack of updates, though I could have probably made it a touch longer…It's also a nice holiday gift from me to you…and that's any holiday you wish in there (yes, I know I'm late for some of them)…even just the freedom that is winter break. So enjoy and Happy Holidays!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Ouroboros  
**

Dumbledore was furious. And he felt that that was probably the understatement of the century. Not only had Sirius Black been proven innocent and_ Pettigrew_, little Peter Pettigrew, been found guilty of his alleged crimes, but Fudge had barely consulted him on this matter! He was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, for Merlin's sake! It was his duty—no, his _responsibility_—to deal with high profile cases such as these. It was severely troubling that the Minister was growing as comfortable as to feel that he no longer had to rely on Dumbledore.

It enraged Dumbledore past reason. There _had_ to be a way to get Fudge back in his pocket. The man was dangerous—not on purpose, of course, but through his lack of action and his severe prejudice against others, he proved that someone needed to keep an eye on him. If not Dumbledore, then who? He was, of course, one of the greatest leaders of the light in the past century and his position in Wizarding Society practically demanded a close relationship with the Minister.

Yes, that was the way to go about. Make it appear as if Dumbledore would begin a slander campaign against Fudge if he ever decided that he didn't need his help any longer. The man was so afraid of losing his position as Minister that he would do anything.

It didn't help that the story of the Marauders brought to attention the fact that Harry Potter had yet to be found. That enraged Dumbledore far more, though he had been doing his best for years to scour England for the boy. For the past three years, in fact, he had had his agents going over orphanage records to attempt to find Potter, though he had received no results as of yet. The Potter situation caused his anger to grow exponentially, and Dumbledore threw a random trinket—one that was likely inconsequential—into the wall, panting with rage. He fiddled with a ring on his finger, tempted to also throw that at the wall, but instead picked up another unnecessary belonging and hurled it at the window.

The House-Elves would have quite a bit of cleaning up to do.

* * *

Severus Snape was pacing in his office. Harold Flamel—he refused to think of the boy as anything else—would be knocking on his office door in less than an hour to have a discussion with him. Merlin and Morgana! What a mess. This was going to be a conversation for the history books, he knew. 

Reaching into the locked cabinet beside his desk, Severus pulled out a bottle of muggle brandy—much nicer than firewhiskey—and poured himself a generous glass. He gulped it down, letting the burning sensation settling in his stomach also settle his mind. What would come of this conversation would come, and there wasn't much he could do about it other than steer it away from certain areas. He sighed, pouring himself another glass of brandy and took a small sip, taking the time to organize his thoughts as much as he could, though he had been trying for the past several days now.

The turmoil in his mind came down to three things. The first was that he owed James Potter. The second was that he owed Harry Potter and had plenty of vital information to give him. The third was that Harold Flamel was really Harry Potter.

Yes, he had admitted it to himself. Harry Potter was Harold Flamel.

And even though he didn't like it, he would have to accept it before the boy arrived in his office. He hadn't been allowing himself to think of it for days now, unable to connect the frightfully intelligent boy with the son of his childhood arrogant and idiotic enemy. And somehow he had to tell him that he was the reason he no longer had parents. This was going to be _brilliant._

The worst part was that the boy would likely curse him, and Severus knew that he couldn't stop it. It was his right, after all. He would do the same if he were in Flamel's—no,_Potter_'s shoes. Damnit.

Severus just wanted to scream, and that was the truth. Did fate hate him so much as to put him in this situation? What was it about him that caused misfortunate to cling to him like lint?

A knock on his door interrupted him from his brooding. Severus cursed silently, hiding his bottle of brandy away with a swift movement, before striding to the door to open it. He paused for a moment before turning the door handle, surprised that the boy was early.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

It wasn't who he was expecting to see. Not at all.

"Severus," Lucius Malfoy said smoothly. "So sorry for barging in like this with no warning." He didn't sound apologetic at all as he said it.

Severus could barely contain his annoyance. "Not a problem at all," he half-growled at Lucius, restraining himself as best as he could. He didn't move his body from the doorway, not inviting Lucius in.

"Not going to invite me in?" Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow. "How rude of you, Severus."

"I am expecting a firecall from Dumbledore in the next half an hour," Severus replied, barely repressing his annoyance as he came up with the quick excuse. "You haven't asked for permission to enter the school, I presume?"

Lucius simply glared, before calming himself. "I'm a Hogwarts governor. Besides, I'm only here to confirm the rumours. Is it true that the Flamel boy is really here in Hogwarts?"

Severus tensed slightly, grateful for the large robes that hid his wariness as to the topic of the discussion. "Yes, it is," he replied, inclining his head.

"Draco has told me that he has yet to be sorted," replied Lucius, staring intently into Severus's eyes, who made sure to keep his Occlumency barriers at their fullest.

"And what of it?" Severus asked, eyes narrowing.

"I just thought it interesting that a previously unheard of heir of the Flamel family has suddenly resurfaced now, of all times. I've been wondering how much he takes after his ancestors…and whether he would be beneficial to our _cause_."

"That's certainly not enough to bring you here, Lucius. What do you really want?"

"Information that Draco cannot give me: Dumbledore's suspicions regarding the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord is dead, Lucius. He has been for nearly thirteen years now."

"Is he now?" Lucius asked, eyes glinting. "I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you, Severus."

"Are you _warning_ me?" Severus asked, smiling mockingly. "You turned tail and ran, if I recall correctly."

Lucius scowled. "I did _not_. I simply did all I could to be available to our Lord should the need arise—"

"Don't lie, Lucius. You just made sure you'd still be an upstanding member of society after the Potter boy defeated Him."

Lucius snarled, his eyes glinting fanatically. "I did _not_ betray our Lord! It doesn't matter now anyways…he's returning, Severus. He's coming back to finish his work!"

Severus raised a sceptical eyebrow, hiding his inward alarm. "You quite sure about that, Lucius? You sounded rather delusional just now. You did, after all, just mention a highly dangerous subject in the middle of a public hallway."

"No one's here!" Lucius responded, his face twisting into an ugly visage. Realizing he was getting a little over-enthusiastic, he calmed himself down, smoothing his robes. "I just thought I'd do you a favour, Severus…"

"Oh?" he responded, raising an eyebrow in a passable mockery of Lucius.

"Just don't forget where your loyalties lie," Lucius bit out, before turning on heel and leaving.

"Well, that was odd," Severus muttered to himself, re-entering his office. Just what he needed—a resurrected Dark Lord. Brilliant. And what was with Lucius's display just now? Something was happening…something he knew he wouldn't like in the slightest.

He poured himself another glass of brandy, calming himself down as he slowly sipped it. All the while he thanked Merlin that he had a high alcohol tolerance, as it wouldn't do him much good to be seen drunk—even just a bit tipsy—around a student.

A knock on the door interrupted Severus mid-sip, and he set his glass into the drawer of his desk along with the remainder of the brandy bottle. "Come in," he called, _knowing_ this time that it would be Flamel.

"Sir," the boy said with a nod of his head as he entered the office and closed the door behind him.

"Sit down, Flamel," Severus said, indicating the chair in front of him.

"Not going to call me by my proper last name?" Flamel asked, looking slightly surprised.

"No point in getting used to the name Potter, Flamel. We don't want anyone to know now, do we? And that's _sir_."

"Yes,_sir_," he replied, rolling his eyes. Severus barely masked his annoyance. "Why am I here then, sir?"

"To talk."

"Well that was obvious," Flamel replied. At Severus's glower, he amended that with "Professor."

"There are several things you need to know. Things that are vital for you to know because of your _role_ as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"The role I don't want, Professor." Flamel sighed. "And I thought I was here to be reprimanded. Odd, that misconception. What information?"

"Oh, you'll be reprimanded plenty later. For now, there are things you need to know that very few people can tell you. Most unfortunately, I am one of them. As it is, I'd like to ask you what know of your parents' murder?" Severus asked instead of answering his question directly. This was going to be difficult.

"Almost everything: They were hiding in Godric's Hollow under the Fidelius charm; their Secret Keeper was Peter Pettigrew, who betrayed them to Voldemort." Severus bit back a shudder at the Dark Lord's name, refusing to show any form of fear in front of the boy. "My father died first and my mother after, presumably attempting to protect me from Voldemort," Flamel finished, frowning slightly. "Though I don't suppose anyone's really told me why Voldemort went after them."

"That's part of what I'm about to tell you," Severus said, activating the silencing wards on his office with a wave of his wand. Flamel flinched briefly as he cast the spell, giving him a strange look. "To keep what's said here private," Severus replied to his unasked question. "We don't want anyone hearing this conversation.

"I knew your parents when I was in school," he began, not really wanting to tell the boy but knowing he deserved to know. Flamel nodded, not looking surprised in the slightest. Severus supposed that he had been talking with Lupin and Black and repressed a snarl at the thought. "James Potter and I…" Severus struggled, "Didn't exactly get along very well. We were something akin to the rivalry you see between Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley."

"I hadn't noticed any disagreements between the two of them," Flamel commented.

"Most of them don't happen too often in public," Severus commented. "Fewer witnesses, I suppose," he grimaced. Flamel nodded.

"There was one major difference between our altercations and the ones that occur between Malfoy and Weasley: James had friends with him. I did not." Severus hated what he was saying even more with every passing minute, though he did his best not to let it show. "If you've noticed much of the interactions between Slytherins and Gryffindors in your few weeks here, you've probably noticed the extremely antagonistic attitudes they have towards each other. In my day, it was much worse. The Dark Lord was on the rise then, not merely shoved into the past and history books like it is for today's generation. Everyone knew that the Dark Lord had once been a Slytherin and that many of his supporters or soon-to-be supporters would be Slytherins; as such we were almost universally hated. If their House loyalties and thoughts of blood-purity didn't turn a Slytherin towards the Dark Lord, it was the complete and utter ostracization from the rest of the school that did."

Flamel's eyes looked at him sharply with this statement. Severus nodded, "Yes," hating to admit it. He raised the left sleeve of his robe, displaying his Dark Mark in front of Flamel, trying not to flinch under his accusing gaze. He could have sworn that Flamel's eyes were suddenly brighter than usual, but that moment past. He appeared to be waiting for an explanation.

"I was very, _very_ foolish. I thought I knew what was best for me and the world. And I thought that the Dark Lord had the right of it. It did not take me long to learn that the Dark Lord was in the wrong. Long in comparison to many of the other Death Eaters, that is. Two years after entering his service I went to Dumbledore and begged for his forgiveness. He asked for me to spy for him in return for protection from Ministry accusations. I took a post at the school, using the excuse that I was spying on Dumbledore to appease the Dark Lord. It was both lucky and unfortunate that I realized the error of my ways before a particular incident occurred.

"It was only a couple of weeks after I'd switched sides. I was in the Hog's Head—a bar down in Hogsmeade—scoping out some of the local sentiments of the general populace. At the time, Dumbledore was interviewing a prospective teacher of the Divination post. I was unfortunate enough to overhear portions of a potentially damaging prophecy before Dumbledore realized that I had been listening. Just in case there had been anyone listening in on the prophecy as well, he gave me an altered prophecy to report to the Dark Lord, who wouldn't doubt me as I had been a faithful follower for years."

"Naturally, I reported to the Dark Lord that I had overheard a prophecy that provided a danger to him, though I did tell him it was only part of it. The false prophecy that the Dark Lord heard went as follows: _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…'_"

Flamel's eyebrows were raised, quite surprised. "But that could have meant anyone," he said, almost accusingly.

"The Dark Lord's mind was quite paranoid…he believed it to be a magical child in Britain and since the magical community here is so small, he naturally had two choices," Severus explained.

"Neville or me."

"Yes," Severus nodded.

"So the 'savior' in the false prophecy could be Neville?" Flamel asked skeptically. "Not that he isn't capable…just…"

"Always quick to defend a friend," Severus noted with a touch of a sneer, but his heart wasn't quite in it. Flamel's expression didn't change, so Severus simply sighed and continued.

"The real prophecy could have been either of you as well—the beginnings were quite similar. However, both of the prophecies—true and false—make a distinction which has led us to believe that it is indeed you, that the Wizarding World has labeled you correctly. Dumbledore even concocted the continuation of the false prophecy, for continuity's sake. He finished it with these words: _'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.'_

"Obviously, not a very clear prophecy, but one that would hopefully befuddle the Dark Lord enough. The real prophecy was quite convoluted too." Seeing Flamel's almost impatient look—the first time he had seen such an expression on his face—he almost chuckled. "I'll tell you the real one afterwards. I'm not done yet." Flamel simply nodded in response.

"Unfortunately, the false prophecy had far reaching consequences we could have never predicted." Severus thought differently, of course. He believed that chances are it had been engineered to occur the way it had through Dumbledore, but he did not tell Flamel this. Some things were better left unsaid in a building that Dumbledore controlled. "The small part of it that I had fed to the Dark Lord seemed to lead him to believe that he had to eliminate either you or Longbottom. He chose to eliminate you first."

Severus could see Flamel's dawning comprehension by the tension in his face. Again, that light entered his eyes…perhaps the lighting in his office? It had faded as quickly as it had come. He continued, despite Flamel's obvious discomfort. "Of course, both families were under a lot of protection, but what we didn't know was that the Dark Lord had an inside man. It was pure luck on the Wizarding World's part that you were able to vanquish the Dark Lord. No one knows how you did it, even to this day. I believe that you're actually a subject studied quite intensely in the Department of Mysteries."

Flamel raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. Severus gave him a few minutes to absorb it, giving him a chance to speak.

"How much do you trust Dumbledore, professor?" he asked, and it was possibly the last question Severus expected from his mouth. Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore had once been on good terms, after all.

"That depends on why you want to know," Severus dodged. He was either asking the question through loyalty to Dumbledore or through distrust of him. He couldn't tell. "I'm grateful he saved me from the fate of being a Death Eater in the Ministry's hands. And I'm grateful for the position as a teacher, no matter how much I hate the first years," Severus said, gauging his response to his words. At Flamel's narrowing eyes, he added, "But I am quite wary of his actions and motives in many cases."

"That was quite indirect," Flamel commented. His eyes were guarded.

:"It was. It's best not to speak of these things too loudly or too often in the castle. It is his domain, after all. However, here's a point for you to ponder: Dumbledore doesn't know who you are, or at least not from me."

"Very true," Flamel responded. He hesitated, before pronouncing resolutely, "I don't trust him. He may have been great once, but whatever greatness he currently has is being used for his own gains and manipulations; nothing else."

Severus nodded. "My sentiments exactly. I will perhaps relate to you some of my theories another time, as this is not the place for it."

"Understood," Flamel said in agreement. "Now, what was the _real_ prophecy?" he asked, quite impatiently.

Severus sighed, suppressing an uncharacteristic grin at Flamel's impatience. "With a bit more subterfuge I was able to gain the full prophecy from Dumbledore's pensieve several years ago," he reached into a different desk drawer than the one carrying his bottle of brandy and pulled out a pensieve. He drew a silvery strand of thought from his temple, the action taking little to no effort through years of use and practice. He was about to deposit it in the pensieve, but a word from Flamel stopped him.

He quickly returned the thought to his head. "What?" he asked sharply.

"There's some strange magic surrounding it," Flamel said, staring intently at the pensieve.

"You can see magic?" Severus asked sceptically, though considering how much else he had seen the boy do; he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Yes," Flamel replied, absorbed in his task of analyzing the magic around the pensieve. "It's been tampered with," he declared.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite certain?"

"Yes," he replied confidently. "I know a tampered pensieve when I see one, trust me."

_Trust you?_ Severus thought mockingly in his thoughts. _Do I have any other choice but to?_ He did not echo those sentiments, however, as he observed the boy sitting in front of him.

"How can you tell?" he asked curiously. "I can accept that you can see magic, but to differentiate between the thousands—millions, even—of spells that exist…"

"Nicholas enjoyed testing me," Flamel said with a half smile. "He made it into a game of sorts."

"I see," Severus nodded, accepting that answer. He wasn't quite sure he believed it. "I take it you know how to remove the magic around it?"

"I'm afraid not, professor," he replied, frowning. "A pensieve is far too delicate for me to try."

"I suppose you'll just have to hear it second hand, then," Severus replied shrugging. He wasn't sure if the boy was merely too eager to wait to hear the prophecy or actually couldn't fix the problem.

"The prophecy is significantly longer than the false one, though it begins much the same:

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, _

_Sooner than ever hoped. _

_Born to parents that have thrice defied him,_

_He will be the bane of the Dark Lord, _

_Born as the seventh month dies. _

_And the Dark Lord shall mark him in mind, body, and soul as an equal._

_The Ouroboros awakens once more_

_One is the dragon and one is the snake_

_Who is who is only determined by the __victor of the timeless battle._

_One is all and all are one_

_Who is__ the one and who are the many?_

_Death must be delivered and only at the hand of the other_

_For they will live for eternity if one does not erase the other.'"_

Flamel looked slightly astonished. "Could I have that in writing please?" he asked weakly.

"No," Severus replied more sharply than intended. "It would be too easy for it to fall into the wrong hands. It holds the secret to immortality in there, at least for you and the Dark Lord."

"I know, I know," Flamel said. "Could you please repeat it more slowly?"

"Of course," Severus replied, inclining in head then doing as asked.

"Ouroboros…" Flamel muttered after the second recitation of the prophecy. "I recognize that word."

"It is an old mythological symbol," Severus supplied. "A reptile with its tail in its mouth, a never-ending circle."

Flamel nodded. "I remember now. Could that have anything to do with the reference of the dragon and the snake?"

"Perhaps," Severus mused. He had thought it over, of course, but it never hurt to see a prophecy in new light. "Unfortunately, the most infuriating thing about prophecies is that they tend to be unclear until they have already been fulfilled. Most unfortunately, they are almost inescapable. Many prophecies, however, have been misinterpreted to bring about more doom than they possess or vice versa. However, it has been theorized that there is the possibility that the prophecy augments itself according to the actions taken by those mentioned within the prophecy. More often than not it is best to avoid doing anything to attempt to alter a prophecy as it tends to make things much worse. Consider the story of Oedipus as an example."

Flamel nodded, looking thoughtful. "I'll keep it hidden in my memory so thoroughly that even I will not be able to access it on a daily basis. It's not good to dwell on these things, or so I've been taught," he sighed. He then made to rise out of his chair.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Severus smirked. "You have yet to be reprimanded for your actions the other night. Not to mention I have one last piece of vital information to give you."

Flamel groaned audibly, but sat back down in the chair. "Information first, please?"

Severus smirked. "Just this once," he said, his face growing serious. "Lucius Malfoy paid me a visit just before you arrived at my office. He seemed quite interested in you and quite eager to warn me to watch my step. He appeared to believe that the Dark Lord would be returning to life soon."

Flamel nodded, his face intent and serious. "I'll be careful, sir."

"Good," Severus nodded sharply. "Now, for your actions I have quite a fitting punishment for you."

"What's that, sir?" Flamel asked. Severus could see he was holding back expletives.

"Lessons in strategy and tactics."

"What?" Flamel responded, astounded. Severus felt quite smug at startling the confidence right out of the boy.

"Lessons. Your performed fairly well, considering the pressure you were under, but you could have dealt with it better. And you didn't perform any security spells whatsoever upon myself and the others until over a day after the incident. It was quite foolish on your part, and you will be quite lucky if one of them hasn't already told someone else."

Flamel glowered at him, amusing Severus to no end. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not at all."

"Brilliant," Flamel muttered. "Now can I go, sir?"

"You may call me Severus in private," Severus told him, wincing a bit as he did so, but he knew that it was a good idea in the long run. "And yes, you may go Flamel."

"Call me Harry," the boy responded impudently, half way out the door.

Severus rolled his eyes at his response and shooed him out the door. He badly wanted to finish that thrice damned glass of brandy.

* * *

The leaving feast quickly approached as spring faded into summer and the end of the school year drew nearer. Harry was quite happy that the summer was approaching and he could be out of the confines of Hogwarts, as he found the school to be far too restricting and eagerly awaited a summer on his own, doing what he wished. He also did happen to want to see his exam results, though he figured they wouldn't appear for some time yet. 

The leaving feast found Harry sitting at Gryffindor table once more, though he felt it would have been much more amusing to sit at the staff table again. According to the Weasley twins, the feast was taking much longer than usual to actually appear on their plates, which was rather odd as Dumbledore didn't do too many speeches at the end of the year.

Apparently, this closing feast would be different.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, spreading his arms wide and beaming at the students before him. "First off, let me offer my congratulations to Ravenclaw for their success in winning the House Cup this year!" he exclaimed and changed the banners hanging over the tables to the Ravenclaw emblem. "Also to Slytherin for winning the Quidditch Cup for the fourth year in a row!" Applause went around the Great Hall, just as much for the winners as for the food that most anticipated.

"There has been a slight change in the feast this year. As you all know, the start of the year feast has always been reserved for the first years, to welcome them to our school," Dumbledore began. Confused mumblings would have broken out if Dumbledore hadn't been held in as much awe as he was. As it was, Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach at his words. "And we would not wish to take that away from them. So, to add to this year's end of term feast, Harold Flamel will be sorted so that he may sit in his proper place in September."

At his words McGonagall took out a three legged stool and a ragged hat. Harry was pissed off at the lack of warning, more so that his placement in a House would mean that he would have less freedom to move around the school.

"Mr. Flamel, if you would come up here please?" McGonagall asked, indicating the dais that had been raised magically for this purpose alone.

Harry sighed out loud and began his march towards the stool. Behind him, he could hear the twins taking bets in Gryffindor and the neighbouring Hufflepuff table and barely restrained rolling his eyes at the two. Instead, he found himself sitting in the chair and the ragged hat forced on his head.

"Hmm…" he heard a tiny voice in his head. Surprised, Harry nearly forced the foreign entity out of his head, but found himself unable to.

"I am forbidden to reveal any of what I learn in another's mind, Mr. Potter," the Hat told him. "Not even to the Headmaster you detest so much." It hummed, an odd sounding thing in Harry's mind. "For good reasons too, apparently…" Harry found himself growing angry with the inanimate object, though he was careful to keep the expression from his face. "Not to worry, Mr. Potter…no one else knows, not yet at least," the Hat chuckled. Harry found himself resenting its good humour.

"Dumbledore," the Hat called out suddenly, and Harry was aware that the whole hall could hear him. "I can't sort this boy!"

"Why ever not, Mr. Hat?" Harry could hear the hall chuckling at the Sorting Hat's name and found himself smiling too.

The Hat ignored their amusement. "He's far too advanced for his age. There's nowhere to put him!"

"He's been home-schooled up until now. Are you telling me there is nothing more that Hogwarts can offer him?"

"No, not at all…just that he would be misplaced if placed in fourth year in the fall. If that's the case, though, I shall also place him in the correct year for each subject, as I have done in the past. I suggest that you have the students start the feast—this may take a while."

"But…" Dumbledore began, shocked.

"No buts, Dumbledore. This is the way it was done back in my day…"

Dumbledore and the rest of the staff appeared surprised, but Dumbledore gave his consent and the feast began.

"Do I have no say in this at all?" Harry complained out loud.

"Nope," the Hat replied cheerfully in his mind.

Harry then thought towards the Hat instead: _I suppose all those exams they had me take were useless then,_ he commented.

"Indeed they were," the Hat told him in his mind.

To professor McGonagall he added out loud, "Could you please get me parchment and a quill? I shall mark down each subject as I cover them in his mind." McGonagall nodded, slightly dumbstruck, but conjured the items as asked. "Thank you, my dear," the Hat replied. Somehow he got the two objects to hover in front of Harry, and the quill was already in front of it prepared to write.

"You're quite advanced in many subjects," he told Harry privately. "Quite understandable you resent being here."

Harry didn't really think anything back and just let the Hat rummage. There wasn't much else he could do but wait patiently.

"Hmm…let's see. Ah-ha! A journeyman's in Alchemy? I'm quite impressed, Mr. Potter! You'll definitely become a teaching assistant in quite a few subjects…"

"Lovely," Harry commented dryly. "Can we just get on with it?"

The Hat chuckled. "Of course, of course."

The quill began scratching on the parchment, pausing every second or so. Harry, who could actually see it, was quite surprised at the Hat's evaluation. Apparently, he was advanced enough to be a teaching assistant in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Ancient Runes. He had been placed in seventh year Arithmancy and Charms, sixth year Transfiguration, and fifth year for Herbology and History of Magic. The only two classes he had with his peers were Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination had been completely and utterly vetoed as a subject he should take. Though Harry resented that choice being made for him, he knew that he would have left the class anyways.

The whole process took at least twenty minutes, in which he knew he was the subject of much contemplation. _This is just brilliant,_ he thought at the Hat.

"It is, isn't it?" the Hat replied happily. "I know I'm quite entertained." Harry merely rolled his eyes in response.

When the Hat was finally done, he floated the parchment over to Dumbledore who raised an eyebrow in surprise but nodded in agreement. He rose from his seat, calling the great hall to silence momentarily as he began to speak. "I'm quite sorry to have interrupted your meal," he said, twinkling his eyes at the students. "But I believe that Mr. Flamel is ready to be sorted."

Harry simply rolled his eyes at the theatrics. The Hat mentally snickered at him before straightening himself and opening his brim wide to announce Harry's House.

_I really do have no say in this either, do I?_

"Nope," the Hat thought in response, before announcing where he was to spend the next four years.

"Slytherin!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** _I'm proud of myself—I was incredibly tempted to give you all a cliffhanger, but I restrained myself. Thank Santa Claus for that, even though I don't personally celebrate Christmas…Anyways, I think most of you saw that placement coming, though there will of course be complications. _

_Happy Holidays to everyone and a Happy New Year!_


	15. Wit and Cunning

**Disclaimer:** Of course I own Harry Potter! Wasn't it obvious? I'm just posting the rest of the series on a _fanfiction_ website so that I won't get paid…Ah, sarcasm…

**Author's Note:** _Thank you for all the amazing reviews! I loved each and every one of them! Sorry for this dreadfully late update but well…I'll use the excuse that real life does exist (unfortunately or fortunately, you get to chose ). _

_Relationships__: Figured I should probably address this before too many shippers got carried away. I don't write romance. Period. The best you're going to get from me is "Oh, did you here that so-and-so are a couple now?" Same goes for slash. If it happens, it'll be mentioned in passing, just like most relationships with people you barely know are. Personally, I don't think I'm very good at romance and I cannot see myself pairing Harry with anyone…not at this point, at least. Not to give you false hope and all, as I highly doubt that I will ever, at least not as a focus. So, hate to break it to you all who were looking for romance, but it probably (read: almost 100 percent) won't be happening._

_That aside, enjoy this chapter! It's not as long as I would have liked, but one chapter is better than none, eh? And just a reminder…remember, this is an __**AU**__ story…so don't be too surprised at some of the stuff in it._

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Wit and Cunning**

Severus nearly cursed out loud when he heard the Potter boy's placement in his house. That boy was a troublemaker, through and through. He had a funny feeling that he would be giving the most detentions to Potter through sheer annoyance. Yet…he was minutely pleased that this gave him easier access to the boy, so the two wouldn't have to make excuses to plot in secret. Great, now he actually sounded like the stereotype of Slytherins in his thoughts. Damn that Potter boy.

Severus did let a small grin escape—shocking anyone who had seen it—at the idea of James Potter's son being in Slytherin. Oh, how he would roll in his grave! It gave him some form of satisfaction to know that he had gotten one up on his long-hated rival.

More mildly amused now than anything, Severus continued to eat his dinner, poking at his potatoes deftly. He was just getting around to the greens when a piece of parchment was passed to him from Dumbledore on his left.

"Can you believe this, Severus?" Dumbledore said to him in an undertone. "It's been years since the last recorded teaching assistant!"

Severus nearly choked on the pea he'd swallowed. Coughing, he took the sheet in his hand, waving off the assistance from Flitwick on his right. As he caught his breath he skimmed through the sheet, his eyes widening as he saw the results of the Potter boy. Looks like he didn't need to be in Slytherin to allow them to talk—he was his damn assistant!

"Albus, how in Merlin's name did this happen?" Severus asked incredulously, purposely sounding more angered than he actually felt.

"It's been a few centuries, but this has happened before. It's just so rare that we get a teaching assistant for _three_ subjects, let alone one! And he's so advanced in other subjects…Nicholas must have taught him well."

Severus nodded, still pretending to look unhappy. Flitwick beside him had taken the list now and appeared to be quite excited. Potter hadn't even been an official student for an hour and he was already the cause of serious changes in Hogwarts.

A shiver of fear mixed with anticipation found its way down Severus's spine. Whatever would happen would happen, but at least they now had a fighting chance.

* * *

The first thing that Harry noticed was not the whispers of the students in the Great Hall, or the cheers of Fred and George as everyone cashed in on their bets. It was, in fact, the expression on Professor Lupin's face. Shock was only a small fragment of the emotions expressed, though Harry did his best to ignore it. What did it matter if Professor Lupin wasn't happy with his House? He wasn't his father…just a friend. Besides, any disgust directed towards his House was like a slur on his personality—obviously a very large part of it was quite Slytherin. 

Harry refused to show emotion as he slowly took the hat off his head and handed it to Professor McGonagall. He expressed none of what he was feeling—what that was, he wasn't quite sure himself—and instead strode proudly to a seat that was not filled in the middle of the Slytherin table, that appeared to host most of his age group. He had had little interaction with them previously, tending to avoid the Slytherin table for the most part.

Wary, he took a seat and began piling his plate with some food, still hungry despite everything. He didn't notice or really care when Dumbledore announced the resumption of the feast, intent as he was to finish his dinner and analyze his dorm mates for the next three years.

He could tell they were staring at him and he let them, waiting for someone to introduce themselves. When no one did, he impatiently halted his consumption of his meal and said, "Well? Is anyone going to introduce themselves or am I going to assume that you are all nameless?" He added a raised eyebrow for effect and got one in return from the tall black boy sitting across from him.

He was the one who answered first. "Blaise Zabini, tenth generation."

"Harold Flamel," Harry replied.

"We know," the blonde girl directly on his left with dark blue eyes smirked. "Daphne Greengrass, _thirteenth_ generation." Zabini rolled his eyes at her emphasis on thirteenth, obviously something that was much of a sore point between the two.

The others around him introduced themselves. The boy on his left was Theodore Nott, who proudly claimed to be twentieth generation. Draco Malfoy was further down the table, quoting fortieth generation as his qualifications, with the two hulking figures of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle on either side. Malfoy introduced the two, not bother to list their generation number. Tracey Davis was sitting diagonally from him, and claimed the generation number of nine before being quiet. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were both eighth generation, and quickly silenced by the others. When everyone close to him—coincidentally what appeared to be his age group—Harry allowed himself to speak.

"Does anyone want to actually explain this whole generation gibberish to me or will I have to come to conclusions of my own?" Harry asked, despite already knowing what it was about—he was just curious as to their reactions.

"Are you telling me you didn't know?" Malfoy sneered. "What are you, _fourth_ generation?"

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "Most Slytherins tend to refer to themselves in terms of how many generations their family line has been strictly magical," he explained to Harry. "A lot of the hierarchy here is determined by that."

"I figured as much," Harry replied, frowning.

"So what _are_ you then," interjected Theodore Nott.

"Does it really matter?" Harry responded casually, poking at his mashed potatoes and subtly insuring that nothing had been slipped in them. Nothing had.

"Of course it does!" Greengrass claimed.

"Well, how could it? If all it matters here is for social hierarchy, then I outrank all of you simply by my status in the school and don't need blood to do that," Harry said casually.

Many of the Slytherins bristled in anger at his words. Blaise, however, seemed completely calm. "Oh?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. "And what status is that?"

"Well…" Harry began, leaning away from his food and holding out his hand. "There's the minute fact that my great-grandfather happens to be Nicholas Flamel," he began, ticking off a finger. The others did not look impressed. Harry grinned in amusement, carefully watching their expressions. "There also happens to be the minor issues with my timetable—it seems that the vast majority of my courses are with seventh or sixth years," he said, ticking off another finger. "And then there's the fact that I'm a teaching assistant in three major classes," he ticked off his ring finger now. "Oh, and how could I forget? I have a Journeyman's in Alchemy and will hopefully have my Masters before the beginning of next term," he finished, ticking off his pinkie finger. "Anything I'm missing?" he asked, amused at the astonished faces around him. Even Blaise was surprised.

Harry was proud of his achievements and knew that it didn't really matter who knew at this point in time—they would have all found out soon enough anyways. Hearing about it directly from him might potentially inspire some form of trust in him. Potentially. Not to mention that Slytherins were notorious for judging people on their achievements—whether through blood or their own actions—and a little boost would help him on his way to being taken seriously by his house.

"So what does blood count among all that?" Harry asked with a grin, breaking out of his own thoughts. "Besides, blood purity is a load of junk. Ever heard of inbreeding? Might have a problem with six fingered kids eventually or idiots," he said, inclining his head towards Crabbe and Goyle. "Or even too little magic," he smirked, staring pointedly at Malfoy.

That certainly riled them up. Several of the upper years who'd been listening in had their wands out and pointed at him. Harry just smirked in response. His own wand was already out and he was prepared to cast instantly, if need be. He had intimidated them—that was good. It was what he needed so as not to be ostracized for his lineage in his house, because eventually it _would_ come out that he was a half-blood, even if they didn't find out that he was Harry Potter.

"What," a cold voice asked from directly behind Blaise, "is going on here?" Harry watched in amusement as most of those who'd drawn their wands hastened to put them away, still intimidated by Severus Snape.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry replied, barely suppressing a smirk. "I was just educating a few of my fellow Slytherins on the marvels of a diverse gene pool."

"Is that so, Flamel?" Snape snarled. Harry refrained from smirking in response, as he knew it was for the most part just an act. "Seemed like you were prepared to do a bit more than _educating_," he hissed.

"Just prepared to retaliate. You never know how new knowledge is going to be received," Harry replied candidly.

"I see," Snape said with almost no inflection in his voice. "Do be more careful about what you discuss at dinner, Flamel. Some people just don't have the appetite for it."

"Yes, sir." Harry replied.

"And come to the Headmaster's office after dinner, Flamel. He would like to speak with you about your…_position_ in this school."

Harry smirked, giving in to the urge. "Of course, Professor."

Harry was left to eat the remainder of his dinner in piece, the majority of those around him cowed by Snape sudden appearance merely seconds after the drawing of wands. Only the whispers interrupted his dinner, and he was quite amused by most of them. He did listen intently when he overheard someone discussing the end of the table, and how the non-purebloods and Muggle-lovers were down there (apparently, he belonged there too, according to his source). It was heartening for Harry to know that Slytherin really_wasn't_ the breeding grounds for evil and other such biased nonsense. Oh, he had known that before, but experiencing the politics of the house versus hearing about it from someone else were two entirely different things.

The only parting comment he got as he made his way up from the table, leaving as the rest of the hall was dismissed, was a low snarl of "Watch your back, Flamel," that could have come from anyone. He shrugged it off, making his way amid the amassed students—hastily dodging a whack aimed at his head from Fred and George as he did so—and headed down the winding corridors towards the Headmaster's office. Here the students thinned, heading to their separate dormitories to do some last minute packing or a game or two of gobstones. Everyday average student worries...certainly not his.

He was pulled from his thoughts by his arrival at the gargoyle that protected the entrance of the Headmaster's office. He stared at it for a few moments, hoping it would leap aside on its own before giving it up as a lost cause. Instead of giving it up as a lost cause, he heightened his Magical Sight and looked at the design closely. Of course, most of the intricate workings of the spell were lost on him as it was surrounded by so much magic and the little he could see involved some high level Spell Crafting…but he could make out a few runes. Nothing terribly helpful, as for the most part all he could make out was gibberish.

A pair of hurried footsteps caught his attention as they approached. Dimming his Magical Sight, he turned, so as not to show his back to whoever was approaching. In retrospect, he probably should have had his back to the wall all along.

"Har—Mr. Flamel?" asked the surprised voice of Professor Lupin. Harry once again cursed his fool-heartedness in not completely erasing his memories of the event, as he nearly let his name slip. That wouldn't be too damaging, but the familiarity would. It would arouse the suspicions of a certain someone. However, unaware of Harry's thoughts, Lupin still continued. "What are you doing here?" he was giving Harry the same strange look from dinner.

"Dumbledore told me to come to his office after the feast," he replied, shrugging.

"How odd," Lupin commented. "We're supposed to be having a staff meeting right now." He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to ask a question or not, and then said, "Are you alright in Slytherin?"

Harry shrugged. "It's much like any other House, isn't it? Their character traits are just different," he said nonchalantly. He narrowed his gaze at Lupin, slightly surprised at the wariness found in his eyes. "What, you don't think I've gone all evil because of it?" he laughed lightly, attempting to keep the mocking tone out of it.

"No, it's just that your—"

"Not here," Harry hissed, interrupting the man. "And I know, Gryffindor to the last. I'm _not_ them." Lupin nodded, still looking doubtful.

Harry chose to change the subject. "So, how on earth do we get into to this thrice-damned office?"

"Liquorice Snaps," Lupin said simply.

Harry barely had time to question what good Liquorice Snaps were when the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing them through to the winding staircase leading up to the Headmaster's office. Bloody Headmaster and his confusing passwords…Liquorice Snaps indeed! It was clearly something he had simply added to the persona of "kindly grandfather" that Dumbledore liked to portray more often than not.

"Ah, here they are now!" Dumbledore said as they entered the room, the door ajar for last minute stragglers. "I believe that's everyone, is it not?" he smiled, his eyes twinkling as he ignored the protests of most of the staff at having a student in attendance. "Take a seat, and let us begin."

"But Headmaster—" one of the teachers protested.

"All will be explained soon enough, I assure you," Dumbledore replied with that damned twinkle. Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Now, I believe that you all would like an explanation as to Harold Flamel's presence in our staff meeting, yes?" Dumbledore asked, his question rhetorical though many of the staff decided to answer with annoyed noises. "We have a unique case here, as Mr. Flamel is required to attend Hogwarts until his seventeenth year, but he is much more advanced than the average student. The Sorting Hat has seen fit to place him not with his peers, but with the correct year level according to his knowledge. Additionally, he has been placed as a Teaching Assistant for three of the courses offered here at Hogwarts."

Several loud exclamations were voiced at his last line, and phrases such as "You can't be serious!" and "This isn't even in _Hogwarts, a History!_" were repeated quite unnecessarily. Harry could barely restrain his smirk.

"Yes, yes, I know it's rare," Dumbledore said, and everyone quieted down almost at once. "But this is the situation as it stands, so please be aware that from now on Mr. Flamel will be required to attend staff meetings, for he is both a member of the staff as well as the student body. There are, of course, certain privileges associated with such a position, which I will outline for all staff over the summer to make sure we're absolutely clear on the boundaries set."

Murmurs of consent now, very few of the teachers disagreeing with Dumbledore._Ah, sheeple…_Harry thought to himself, barely restraining a disgusted sneer. _The most easily manipulated of all…I'm surprised that at least one isn't complaining._

"Now, Mr. Flamel here will be the Teaching Assistant for the courses outlined by the Sorting Hat: Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Ancient Runes. If there are any protests they can be taken up with the Sorting Hat, though as he was created by the four founders, I'm quite sure that Mr. Flamel is more than suited for each position. Any complaints can be addressed after the meeting.

"That said and done, I have some excellent news! Our Ministry and the French and German Ministries have completed the final stages in preparing for next year's Triwizard Tournament. It has been confirmed that it will be held here, at Hogwarts, and all students that have been judged worthy will be able to enter."

Harry barely suppressed his shock at the announcement. _The Triwizard Tournament… here? It hasn't happened in a century!_ he thought to himself, astounded at the audacity of the Ministry. _There were _reasons_ why that tournament was disbanded! And they weren't foolish ones, either… _He recalled learning about the famous Triwizard Tournament back in the eighteenth century when a necromancer of the time had decided that it was the perfect opportunity to test out some of his more dangerous sacrificial methods and snuck them into the tournament. It hadn't been pleasant and was later one of the reasons why it had been disbanded. Horrible things had happened to Champions and even the students around them during those Tournaments…

"All three Ministries have approved the safety regulations for the tournament and have added on an extra safety precaution, as it _is_ the re-instalment of a tournament that was disbanded for good reason. The Goblet of Fire will be brought out twice. The first time it will chose ten candidates from each school. Then, each candidate will be tested carefully to ensure that they are adequately prepared for the tournament. Afterwards, the passing names shall be resubmitted and one Champion for each school shall be chosen.

"We will be having a staff meeting the last week of August to finalize all details. As of now, I would like all reports of marks submitted no later than the third of July, as always. Please notify me if any student has failed a course.

"That is all for tonight. Enjoy your summer vacations and I will see you all a week before the next semester begins. Goodnight," Dumbledore said merrily, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Oh, and Mr. Flamel, if you and Professor Snape could stay behind, please?" Dumbledore called out as an afterthought as the staff filed out. Harry had yet to move from his seat, still overcome by the audacity of the Ministries to even _consider_ holding the Tournament again.

"Has the International Confederation of Wizards approved this?" Harry blurted out the second it was only him, Dumbledore, and Snape left in the room. He knew it was a stupid question the second it left his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. _Of_course_ they had to get approval from the ICW…how idiotic of me_, he berated himself, though inwardly he knew he was just stalling for time as he attempted to settle his inner thoughts.

"Why, of course, my dear boy!" Dumbledore replied jovially. Harry barely restrained from rolling his eyes, though Snape did sneer from his seat beside him. "It's all been approved completely by international bodies. I suspect we may even have a few other schools joining us for the Tournament, though it would be a little late to decide to join now, it can indeed be rearranged. It should be quite the experience for the spectators and Champions alike!"

"And what about the 1708 massacre?" Harry asked, feigning eagerness to inform Dumbledore of such horrors. "Did no one take that into consideration?"

"We have taken the correct precautions—"

"Ignoring the fact that you believe that Voldemort may not be dead," Harry said bluntly.

Dumbledore froze in his seat, looking momentarily like a dear caught in headlights before regaining his composure. "Ah, I see Nicholas educated you well," he commented lightly, though Harry could feel him as he attempted to break down his mental barriers. It was a tough struggle, but his iron will to _not_ let Dumbledore in kept the man out, despite all odds. "Fortunately, we _have_ taken proper precautions. The chances of an attack are highly unlikely, especially as he has not regained a body—assuming he is not fully dead," Dumbledore said, obviously dodging focusing on the topic.

"Now, with that unpleasant business done, Mr. Flamel, we need to discuss your status in the school. Professor Snape is also in attendance, as he still _is _the head of your house. Tea?" he offered, conjuring a tray.

Harry momentarily increased his Magical Sight, noticing no obvious magical properties to the tea—aside from the fact that it was summoned, not conjured—and accepted a cup. He had tested his Sight several months before on potions, and had found that he could see traces of them for the most part. Oddly enough, his tea was untainted.

"So, let's get down to business," Dumbledore began when all three of them had tea suited to their tastes. "You're in a very unique position, Mr. Flamel. I believe the last time we had a home-schooled student at Hogwarts was in the sixteenth century, before Wizards decided to live closer together. The last Teaching Assistant, however…was probably the thirteenth century. Well done indeed!

"While your position is unique, there are certain issues you will face as both a student and a teacher. First and foremost is _not_ to abuse your privileges. Outside of the classroom you will have the same rights as the Head Boy and Head Girl, including your own set of rooms. I will give you the manual when before you leave here tonight.

"During classes in which you are a Teaching Assistant, however, you will have the same rights as any teacher. You may deduct or award points as you feel necessary, though for the first several months the points you give and take will be closely monitored, to prevent bias. Afterwards, only large amounts of points will be looked at, as they are for every staff member. Detention-wise, you will be able to assign them _only_ at the approval of the staff member you are working with."

"Can I not decline being a Teaching Assistant?" Harry asked, more for curiosities sake than anything else.

"It is very difficult to do so. Hogwarts requires that all students take a minimum of two electives and the core subjects of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms before N.E.W.T.s, and even then most of the core subjects are required, though some do not do so at N.E.W.T. level. While you may be able to eventually, I advise that you at least attempt to be a Teaching Assistant for a while, at least to make the Ministry happy."

Again, that damned eye twinkle. Harry scowled, more at Dumbledore's genial manner than anything, and the fact that he wasn't really given a choice—not that it really affected his decision. It was more the idea of not having the freedom to choose.

"Alright then," he said, nodding.

"One last thing," Dumbledore began as he finished his tea. "While you are in a position where another professor is around, that professor is _always_ the authority. Much like the Head Boy and Head Girl, you cannot override the professors. Please keep that in mind when interacting with other students."

"Yes, sir." Harry replied. "Can I go now? I'm rather tired and it's a long journey home tomorrow."

"Yes, though I do have one more question for you. You have inserted no place of residence in your application forms for Hogwarts—why is that? We cannot address any mail to you without it."

"It's under the Fidelius Charm, Headmaster," Harry replied, stiffening in his seat. That was one location the Headmaster had no right to know. "As I am not the Secret Keeper, I cannot tell you the location. However, I will set up an account with the Owl Service for a drop box as soon as possible."

Dumbledore looked mildly frustrated for the barest moment, before schooling his expression into one of indifference. "Alright then, you may go. Severus, please stay. I'd like to talk to you about some other matters…"

* * *

Harry found the corridors of Hogwarts to be rather comforting in the darkness. _Prometheus may have given us fire,_ he thought to himself cynically,_but I'm sure we could see better in the dark without it._ It was startling how sheltered those who lived in this castle were…or perhaps it was just his life that cause him to see everyone else as sheltered? He didn't quite know… 

But how naïve they were! Thinking that blood mattered so much as to separate, or that tournaments displaying the pride of a school were everything…In the end, nothing like that really mattered. In the end it was your own wit and cunning and skill that kept you alive and breathing…and what more was there?

Tournaments did not heal the sick. They did not save lives or cure world hunger or help the orphans of the world. Blood did not determine all of who you were nor who you associated yourself with. It could not tell you if a person was good or evil. What good did it do, except to keep you alive? Not much at all…

In the end, all you had was yourself…

The corridors of Hogwarts were oddly cold at night.

* * *

_Author's Notes: Once again, sorry for the terribly late update! Still, this was above 4000 words…not bad considering I had little free time this month. __Well…not quite sure what my ending for this chapter was about…probably some everyday stuff leaking in //shrug//. At the same time, Harry is in turmoil right now…and man, do I have some interesting (and slightly demonic) plans for him! _

_Next chapter will be out at an unpredicted date…I'll do my best to prevent it from being as long as it has taken me to produce the last couple of chapters, but no promises…Though this time my goal is two weeks at the latest XD. _

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated, as always! _

_--Mirror Behind the Wall_


	16. Obliviation for Dummies

Disclaimer:

**Disclaimer:** If you want to pay me for writing this, who am I to complain? The only people I can foresee complaining would be Rowling's lawyers…so maybe I'll complain just a touch when they're suing me…if only…--sigh—

**Author's Notes:** _Hey guys! I'm terribly sorry about this disgustingly late update. I've been having some health issues recently that impede my ability to be on the computer (which, let me tell you, is a real pain in the ass). Thankfully, said health issues are on the mend, which should definitely improve my updating times. I can promise never to abandon this story, at the very least. I _will _finish it, that much I can say._

_On other, lighter topics…I'm on a beta hunt! Somehow I've been through five or six betas, yet none of them stick. If you have the time/patience to work with me and are willing to commit to editing my various typos, it'd be greatly appreciated. I figured I'd ask first before looking through the new section on entitled "betareaders." Just PM me if you're interested. Thanks!_

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Obliviation for Dummies  
**

_**Many months earlier**_

He stared glumly into the small brook at the back of his father's estate. No reflection looked back at him, his figure completely enclosed in the silvery fabric of an Invisibility Cloak. It had cost his father an arm, a leg, and a wife to get him where he was right now, but he could not help but bitterly resent it. What use was it all when he was still so trapped?

He held out a hand over the brook, watching as steam slowly started to rise from within. Magic without a wand was his only way out of this thrice-cursed place. His lips curled into a bitter smile. His father, upstanding member of society that he was, had been testing some experimental potions from dodgy sources in Knockturn Alley to create the perfect, _obedient_, son. One that didn't go through the rebellious phases that all teenagers were bound to go through—or at least that's how his father saw his part in several Death Eater-related cases ten years earlier. How foolish of him, to think that he could control the perfect servant for his Master! How naïve to believe that he would willingly submit to such treatment!

The House-Elf had taken the potion so willingly, so easily. It had been all too easy to pretend to be under the potion's influence, after seeing that it had no effect on the House-Elf whatsoever, other than to cause it to be slightly less alert. He had, after all, been around House-Elves all his life. It was a shame that that House-Elf had died only a year after taking the potion, though he supposed that could have been from a number of factors, the most likely one being the fact that it happened to be experimental and highly illegal. Oh, how far the mighty have fallen…

He smiled in satisfaction when the anger generated by his thoughts caused a small section of the water to evaporate, and he was quite grateful for the barriers he had decided to generate on either side of the now-dry patch of rocks. He had buried something here years ago and had only remembered it recently, choosing to forget about it for the most part, just in case. One never knew when a Legilimens was wandering about…

It was some hours later when he finally found the small silver brooch, encrusted in dirt and Merlin-only-knew-what-else. It was in the shape of a small silver snake, carrying a dead dragon in its jaw. Smiling in victory, he pierced his finger with the silver pin, not even making a sound as blood dripped onto the already grime covered brooch. Finally, a way…

He already had the will.

* * *

**June 1994**** (Present Day)**

…_as such, the twentieth annual Tri-Wizard Tournament was hosted by Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in 1304. The competing schools consisted of the newly instated Durmstrang Institute, __Spain's School for Young Wizards, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Roman Magical Academy. The winner of the Tournament was Beauxbaton's Champion, Rene__é Glasser, bringing about a lot of controversy regarding her integrity. At the time, it was quite rare for a woman to win, let alone for one school to win three times in a row. Beauxbatons was suspected highly of cheating, though nothing was proven. The Roman Magical Academy left the Tournament after the twentieth, unable to tolerate having women compete in the Tournament. This would have carried much more of a scandal than it did if Wizarding Europe wasn't dealing with the Vampire Wars at the same time and Glasser would have…_

Harry shut the book, entitled _The Tri-wizard Tournament: A History_, with a snap. He stretched with a loud yawn, shifting his body from the position it had been in within the regrettably comfortable chair within the Flamel library for more than two hours. He had had almost no luck in finding out anything about what occurred during the actual competition, such as tasks, and it was annoying him much more than it normally would have. He didn't even know why he was putting so much effort into researching it, but something told him he probably ought to know the rules of the Tournament before returning to Hogwarts in September.

He could see the signs, and they were screaming at him clear as day. The mysterious deaths reported in the Muggle newspapers, tales of missing persons in the _Daily Prophet_, even a brief mention of it in the _Quibbler._ The Muggles were far closer to acknowledging that a serial killer was on the loose than the Wizarding World was to acknowledging that there was a chance that said 'missing persons' were really dead.

Dumbledore was clearly running the Tournament as a distraction to run his own investigation, or something along the lines. Of course, he could be wrong. He wasn't one to understand the convoluted mind of one Albus Dumbledore. Yet…the Tournament was the sort of dangerous, risky, attention-craving event that the Wizarding World loved. He knew that the coming school year would be a media circus and the Professors and students would be expected to play along like trained dogs, while Dumbledore acted as the ringmaster in more ways than one.

"Okay, enough thoughts about school," Harry scolded himself out loud. He lived alone in Flamel Manor, and as such there was no one there to hear him as he spoke. "You still have two months until you're expected to show to help set up for when the students arrive. Relax, breathe, and maybe stop putting off that Alchemy thesis so you can get your Mastery…"

Despite his words to himself, he could not distract himself from thoughts of the Tri-wizard Tournament and its implications on all levels. Sighing, he left the library in search of something else to do around the Manor.

Flamel Manor was really in three locations at once. It was a work of sheer genius from Perenelle, and as a child Harry had secretly been fascinated with the idea of it. All three parts could exist independently, but were connected through a room with three doors, that connected the three magically. Harry just had to walk into the room, close the door of whichever location he had come from, and open the door of the location he wished to enter. As long as the two doors weren't open at the same time, the magic worked wonderfully. If they were open at the same time…well, Harry had heeded the warnings and didn't want to know the results.

The main part of the Manor was in Manchester, as most believed. It was for the public, and the Flamels kept their most secretive items and research away from there. No one but Harry and the House-Elves knew about the existence of the connected homes, and Harry planned on keeping it that way. A town house in London was connected to the Manor as well, though Harry had only been there once. The last location was a fair-sized cottage in Little Hangleton, which was constantly kept under the Fidelius Charm, as it was the Flamel's safe house. It was here that Harry stayed, as he felt no need to be at either of the other locations for the moment. If he was needed at either location, a House-Elf would alert him. Until then, he was content to stay in the cottage, only moving to the Manor to find more books to switch over to the cottage's library.

The Secret Keeper of the cottage was no wizard or witch, but the House-Elf Teppy. Harry had quite liked the idea of hiding the Secret in a House-Elf. House-Elves were fanatically loyal and Harry found that he quite liked them for company as they were usually very cheerful and full of interesting things to say. It was a stroke of genius to hide the Secret in a House-Elf, as no wizard save the Flamels would ever respect or trust a House-Elf so much as to do that.

Despite all this, there wasn't very much to do while at the Manor by himself when he didn't feel like studying. He could make use of the training room that one of his instructors over the years had absolutely insisted he have, but he really didn't feel like physical exertion at the moment. He contemplated going into town, but it was generally a bad idea considering that he was more or less appearing out of nowhere in the middle of small town. Not a good idea. He could visit the London home and explore London from there, but he didn't really feel like crowds, and Manchester was out as it was certainly being watched.

Sighing, Harry made his way back to the library. He was restless, and he knew it. What he really needed was a summer project that had nothing to do with obtaining his Mastery in Alchemy. _That_ project was well underway, his research carefully organized and labeled, ready to be published as soon as it was complete. He sat down in an armchair in front of the empty fireplace and stared off into space for a few moments, organizing his thoughts.

_Perhaps…_he considered, as an idea occurred to him. It wasn't one of his most brilliant ideas. In fact, in his mind, it was one of his worst. Yet, it would most certainly be…interesting. And potentially educational. Or at least that's what he told himself.

That decided, he left the library to find some parchment and a self-inking quill to write a letter. In the meantime, he supposed he could work on his Alchemy project, with the hope that he would have something else to do soon enough…

* * *

Gaston Basterville wasn't much good at anything, except for two things—knowing when information was important and how to shut up. This was why he reported directly to Lucius Malfoy himself, one of his top informants, in fact. He worked as a simple clerk in the Ministry of Magic, dealing with Wizarding and Muggle affairs. His department covered all sorts of things, and it was simply by chance that his eyes happened to glance over a file that he would have normally ignored and spot the name "Potter."

It wasn't long before Basterville was rushing to tell Malfoy that someone was sniffing around orphanages looking for the Potter boy. It was clear that by now they'd exhausted most Wizarding orphanages in the United Kingdom, and they were likely off to search through the Muggle ones.

Lucius Malfoy was quite pleased with this golden nugget of information and offered Basterville a nice sack of galleons as a reward. Both went home from their shady meeting spot in a corner of Knockturn Alley quite happy.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was sick and tired of Harry Bloody Potter. His search had been going on for years with no apparent end in site. And what's worse is that he knew what he had to do to _really_ narrow down the search. The only problem was that it had a lot of risks involved and he had a high chance of failure—very high. If he failed, the repercussions would be much worse, and would definitely loose him a powerful ally. He had held his suspicions for years about Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's involvement in Harry Potter's disappearance, and that had created a rather large rift in their relationship. As it was, Albus knew that Moody would still stand with him and the Order if Voldemort ever rose again. But if something went wrong today, Moody would never fight along side him again and he was a valuable asset. He had already attempted to interrogate him once and destroyed their friendship then. If Moody caught him here…he would destroy their allegiance forever.

Steeling himself for what he knew would be a volatile beginning at best, Albus threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. Sticking his head in the now green flames, he called out "Alastor Moody!" and hoped that he would not meet the brick wall that was Moody's security measure when he was out or didn't want to be disturbed.

He was in luck. Moody was apparently in, and right in front of him. Shaking his head to clear it from the lingering dizziness caused by the Floo, Albus opened his mouth to speak before he was rudely interrupted.

"What the hell do you want?" Moody asked him gruffly, glaring at him from the chair across the fireplace. He had his wand pointed at Albus's head, which didn't do much to make him feel any better about his plan.

"I need your help, old friend," Albus said, pretending to ignore the wand that still hadn't found itself pointing away from him.

Moody snorted derisively. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that? I know your type, Albus. You're the sort who decided that just because you saved the bloody world once-upon-a-time, you can go about messing in other people's business! I used to believe otherwise, but I know better now. Get you're rotting head out of my fireplace."

"Alastor…" Dumbledore pleaded.

"I told you to get out!" Moody snarled. He was crouched down by the fireplace now, his eye spinning madly. I don't care what bloody machinations you've got going on. I will have no part in it!

It was time to try a different tactic. "They're not my machinations, not this time, at least," Albus said. "Voldemort has been sighted."

Moody inhaled sharply at Albus's words. Rising slowly from his crouched position in front of the fireplace, he went over to a cabinet on the far side of the room and took out a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. Not even bothering with a glass, he took a large gulp of it straight from the bottle. "Where?" he asked. His eye would not stop spinning.

"I cannot say over the Floo, you know that."

"Bloody Ministry," Moody mumbled under his breath. Sighing, he seemed to have come to a decision. "Fine. I'll Floo over to your damned office in a few minutes. Then I want details, Dumbledore. Everything. I know you kept a hell of a lot from the Order the last time around, and don't think I wasn't the only one who noticed."

Albus nodded, knowing that if he said anything else Moody might refuse to come. Instead he withdrew his head from the fireplace and barely restrained the grin of smug satisfaction at getting Moody to Hogwarts, which was, of course, the first step in his plan.

He wasn't the most powerful wizard in three centuries for nothing. Alastor Moody he could handle, Mad-Eye or no Mad-Eye.

* * *

Several hours, an obliviated Auror, and a temper tantrum later, Albus Dumbledore was seen making his way to a Muggle orphanage in Dorset. From what he had gleamed from Moody's mind, he had kept a close eye on the Potter boy as he had been exchanged from hand to hand as he was growing up. A simple tracking device had made this much easier than the task implied. Albus had been tempted to take the simple amulet from Moody, but knew that the fact that it was missing would not go unnoticed. Instead, he found himself dressed in a suit with a glamour charm to look as if he were somewhere in his mid-fifties—roughly one hundred years younger.

It was not a long walk from the alley in which Albus had apparated, and he soon arrived at the orphanage that looked as if it had seen better days. Something seemed rather off about it, but he could not quite place what. Shrugging, he entered, heading towards the front desk.

"How may I help you?" asked the elderly lady seated there.

Albus pretended to look a little bewildered. "Is this Dorset's only orphanage?" he asked.

"Only for another month. We've lost all funding," the woman said, obviously quite upset about the matter. "The government is shutting us down and all the children are being sent off to other orphanages, or whatever homes we can find."

"Oh dear," Albus said, his expression extremely upset. "You see, I've been out of the country for the past seven years, and I've just recently found out that my cousin died—a Doctor Cameron Mallory. She had an adopted son and I have reason to believe that he ended up here. I don't have much family left, and I'd imagine that he doesn't either…I was hoping to offer him a home."

"I'm afraid most of our orphans have already been sent away," the woman said, frowning. "There's also the chance that he was adopted between now and then. What did you say his name was again?"

"Harry Mallory, though he might have gone under the name of Harry Potter."

"_That_ hellion!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "He was adopted about four years ago, though I can pull out his file for you, if you'd like."

"Thank you very much," Albus replied. Inside he was cursing—a wizard had definitely laid claim to the Boy-Who-Lived before he had. Who else would have been able to trick Moody's tracking devices into leading him here instead of their own home?

"Ah, here we are," the woman said after a few minutes shuffling through a filing cabinet. "I was really quite surprised that we didn't see him again after the last adoption. He went through so many foster homes we thought he'd be here until his majority."

"Hmm…the last person to adopt him was Mark Delaney," she said, setting the papers back down. "Oh, wait a moment; it says here he came back two weeks later. Ah, here we are." Another piece of paper had come loose. "Sorry, it was a Nicholas Flamel. I remember him now—quite an old fellow, especially to be adopting at his age, but everything checked out okay, and he seemed to be quite pleasant…"

Albus had stopped listening to her rambling the second she had uttered the name Flamel. "Are you quite sure it was Flamel?" he asked, in a state of shock and barely covering it up with is question.

"Yes, quite sure. Would you like telephone number so that you can see about getting in contact with young Harry?" she offered, as something about the man made the secretary want to give away information she normally wouldn't give away without some proof of relation.

"No, no, it's quite alright. I've actually known Nicholas for many years. I'm quite surprised, that's all."

"Oh, how convenient!" she said, pleased. "Well, I wish you good luck in finding Harry, but I really must be getting back to work now."

"Thank you for all your help," Albus said, almost automatically. He apparated to Hogwarts the second he knew he was out of sight of any Muggles, deeply troubled by the implications of what he had discovered.

Harry Potter was Harold Flamel.

Something told him that the upcoming school year was going to be quite interesting.

* * *

**Somewhere in London**

Harry stood outside of the flat belonging to Sirius and Remus, hesitating in front of the door. The door knocker stared innocently back at him, almost daring him to pick it up and knock. Yet…Harry didn't know if he could.

Opening that door would be opening the floodgate of things Harry didn't want to face. The idea that someone out there had once cared for him was a comforting thought just as much as it was a terrifying one. The idea that these two strangers would care for him just because he was someone's child was so…_absurd_ that didn't know what to think. He was forced to admit that yes, he was afraid of emotional attachments. A childhood like his could do that to someone. Still…he craved to know what his parents had been like. Perhaps it was a bit of a suicidal wish, as the more he knew the more he would want to have them in his life, but he couldn't help but wanting to _know_. _I should have been a Ravenclaw,_ he thought ruefully.

Gathering his courage, he knocked before he could back out. The two didn't know he was coming today, per se, though he had contacted them about the possibility of showing up randomly. A half asleep Sirius answered the door.

"Harry?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Harry was amused to note the animated dogs chasing squirrels on his pyjamas and snickered as he shoved away all dark emotions.

"Nice jammies, Sirius. What on earth are you doing just waking up at two in the afternoon?"

"Oh, I'm not still drunk then. Come on in," he said, ushering Harry inside.

"Drunk?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He found out you were a Slytherin last night," Remus said from his position at the kitchen table.

"Wait, you didn't tell him as soon as you got back from Hogwarts?" Harry said, laughing.

"It didn't come up," Remus shrugged. "Besides, I have come to the mature conclusion that it doesn't really matter so much."

"Bravo," Harry said mockingly, applauding. Sirius just groaned and started to hit his head against the kitchen table.

"Tea, Harry?" Remus asked.

"Sure. Milk and no sugar, thanks."

"Sirius? Would you like some tea?" Harry asked quietly, putting his face right next to Sirius's on the kitchen table. "I can colour it so it's green and silver, if you like?" Sirius just groaned and closed his eyes, while Harry snickered. "Oh, relax, Sirius. I'm not going to curse you into oblivion or anything of the sort. Honestly…you'd think that Slytherin has produced the most Dark Wizards out of all the other Houses or something!"

"Erm, Harry…" Remus said.

"Oh, right. It has. This can't be very comforting to Sirius, now can it?" he said, grinning. Despite his cheerful act, he was quite worried inside. He had allowed himself to become slightly emotionally vulnerable around Sirius and Remus and if the two of them shattered that trust…well, he didn't know what he'd do.

"You know I'm not my father, right Sirius?" Harry asked rhetorically, his voice suddenly serious. "I barely even know what my parents looked like; let alone what sort of people they were. Besides, I don't believe that your House defines who you are. The system itself is faulted. You never learn to explore other traits and instead focus and exacerbate one main trait, to the point of excess. It breeds people who are so fixated on the stereotypes of their House that they can't see that they can be brave _and_ cunning, or intelligent _and _loyal. Nothing wrong with being more than one-dimensional."

He found himself coming off his soapbox with both Remus and Sirius staring at him. "Erm…oops? Sorry, this topic always gets me a little worked up."

"You know, he sounds a lot like Lily," Remus commented brightly.

Now Harry felt like banging his head against the table. "That was mean, Remus. Repeat after me: _We are all individuals._"

"We are all individuals!" Sirius exclaimed. Remus just rolled his eyes.

"Nice trick, Harry."

"Thank you. Now, anyone want to teach me to be an animagus?"

* * *

**Manchester**

Despite what Dumbledore believed, he had not successfully Obliviated Alastor Moody. It was a little known fact, but to be truly successful at an Obliviate Charm, one needed to have contact with both eyes. And Alastor only had one.

The Obliviate hadn't stuck, and he found himself apparating to the Flamel's Manor as soon as possible. Despite what Dumbledore had gleaned from his mind, this secret was hidden behind so many Occlumency shields and spells that Dumbledore wouldn't have found it. Yet, the old man was resourceful and Alastor knew that somehow he would find out that Harold Flamel was really Harry Potter. He had to warn the boy.

Dumbledore was not the man he used to be. He had once been a staunch supporter of the light, never willing to allow an innocent to be harmed in his hunt to rid the world of darkness. Yet over the years Alastor had felt his old friend slipping into the abyss…and who knew what he would emerge as?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** _It's finally done! Once more, so sorry for the long wait. Some drama and some fluff. Can't have Harry moping all the time, now can I? Sorry this chapter isn't as long as I intended (I wanted 10 000 words…it's 4000), but I figured you guys would be happier with an update, eh? Anyways, hope you enjoyed it! _

_There's also a pop-culture reference in here, for those who are interested in figuring out which it is/where it's from. Hint: It's British, came from a movie, and it's era is 70s, 80s. Good for a laugh too.  
_

_Once again, if you're interested in betaing, send me a PM! Thanks :D_


	17. Plotting Plots & Breaking the Law

**Disclaimer:** Let's have a little English lesson and dissect the word fanfiction. Separating it into two parts you get "fan" and "fiction." Clearly, "fan" is the more important word here. So, please, kind, honourable lawyers of JKR (who are currently too tied up in the lexicon case anyways and wouldn't be looking in my direction anyways…)…don't sue!

**Secondary Disclaimer:**_The only person who figured out the pop culture reference from last chapter was an anonymous reviewer who went under the name of "Anonymous shall do." Perhaps I was too vague? Anyways, so I don't get sued by a troupe of insanely comedic Brits, the quote from last chapter "We are all individuals!" is from Monty Python's _Life of Brian. _Hilarious movie, though if you're a bit sensitive about Christianity and the whole Jesus thing I would avoid it…_

**Author's Notes:** Okay, lots of stuff to say, most of it apologies on this extremely belated update. It's like wishing someone a happy half-birthday because you completely forgot their birthday was six months earlier…that's how belated this is. Yeah…so…please don't shoot, at least I've updated? Terribly sorry it's so late, some explanation at the bottom of the chapter… You guys have to be the best readers _ever_, I swear. Barely any nagging!

Also, please see the end of the chapter for details on **betaing** and such…

Enjoy!

**Alchemical Reactions**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Plotting Plots & Breaking the Law**

**Late June**

Getting permission from the Department of Mysteries to access their semi-public library was like pulling out an unwilling patient's tooth with a pair of pliers without anesthetic—when they and all involved felt the procedure to be unnecessary. Or like wading through molasses with weights strapped to one's feet. Harry wasn't quite sure which simile worked better, but he _did _know it was possibly one his more frustrating afternoons. In fact, he would say it made top ten, if not top three.

"The ink on this signature is smudged," the head librarian said snidely as he looked down his nose at Harry, the superior and smug expression that had been on his face all afternoon pissing Harry off more and more as the day wore on. "And look—this 'r' does not match up with Mr. Raken's usual signature!"

"If you feel so certain that it's a forgery," said Harry coldly, "then I suggest you firecall _Professor_ Raken. He'd be more than pleased to inform you that I have the proper access as befitting for those studying for their Masters in Alchemy."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't _dare_ trouble him with something as menial as this. You couldn't be more than twelve! I can't even believe the Unspeakables upfront let you in this far, boy, but I'm sure the Aurors would be happy to escort you back to your _mummy_."

Harry's cold gaze did not waver, even as the head librarian mocked him. "If that is the case, I'd like to know your name before I leave."

"You came in here expecting to pass as the son of the Flamels and you did not even think to look up my name?" the librarian asked incredulously. "You're quite something, boy. My name is Daren Fergout, if you _must_ know. Nineteenth generation."

"Thank you," Harry said politely, still smiling coldly, before turning to leave. He had known the man's name, of course, but it was always good to make sure he was getting the right man fired, instead of some other innocent head librarian—at some other branch of the library. Unlikely, but still.

"Ah, Harold! Our little genius! How old are you now, m'boy? Twelve, thirteen?" greeted the jovial old man as Harry entered his office. His face carried permanent laugh lines like battle scars of happy moments and despite his age he had a fair bit of energy—though, Harry supposed, he wasn't that old for a wizard.

"Nearly fourteen, sir," Harry answered politely. Immediately after being kicked out of the library, he had headed towards the Department of Education in the Ministry, heading straight towards the man in charge of those studying for their masteries in the more obscure subjects. He had hoped to find him free and was in luck—the man was with a guest, but could spare a moment.

His general cheerfulness often put Harry off-guard, but he usually shrugged it away in favour of remaining polite and in control of the conversation, for the most part.

"This here is Tracey Davis, my great-granddaughter, actually. I hear you're studying at Hogwarts now—you two might have met."

"We have," Harry replied, turning to Tracey. "A pleasure to meet you again."

"Likewise," she returned.

"Now, then, what seems to be the problem, Harry?"

"The head librarian of the public sector is giving me a hard time again," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"Again?" question Professor Gladwin Raken. "Wasn't the last one fired for misconduct?"

"Well, yes, but they seemed to have hired the exact same sort as the newest one. Seems to think that just because there's a _tiny_ smudge in the ink and the 'r' is your signature is a _touch_ different from what they expect, my pass isn't valid. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm so young and all, but it _does_ list my age on the pass, doesn't it?" Harry said, his demeanour quite different from the cold one of before. He was quite exasperated now and wasn't afraid to show it—especially when it would help him in this case.

"Yes, yes, it should," Raken replied, looking a slightly puzzled. "And he didn't think to firecall? At all? I've been here all day."

"I know, and I even suggested it. He didn't want to waste your time with it," Harry snorted.

Raken sighed. "Ah well, and here I thought he actually wasn't all that bad. Fergout, right?"

"Yeah, that was him. Also enjoys pulling the pureblood 'x generation' line when introducing himself," Harry added, rolling his eyes.

Raken frowned. "I'll talk to the Director of Research in the Department of Mysteries. This falls under his jurisdiction. You'd think they would have learnt better by now…"

"I know, I know," Harry said, shaking his head. "Anyways, I'll leave you to it. I figure that since they've effectively kicked me out down there, I might as well study at home for now."

"I could just firecall down for you…" Raken offered.

"No, it's alright. I still have to figure out which major project I want to focus on first, anyways."

"Oh?" Raken asked.

"I'm not saying a word!" Harry said with a smile. "It's a surprise. Besides, you'll find out when I submit my preliminary report."

"So I should be expecting this ground breaking research when?"

"Erm…August?"

"Only you, Harry. Off with you, then! Get working on that report so that we can start blowing things up together!" Raken said, dismissing him. As he was leaving, the man added "I'll owl you when the whole library thing is sorted out. Hopefully you won't have to rely on the out-dated stuff too much, m'boy!"

"Thanks, sir," Harry replied politely before leaving. "Nice seeing you, Tracey." _Even though you didn't say a word and just observed,_ he added to himself. _What are you plotting?_

"You too," she replied.

* * *

Harry's summer flew by in a haze of research, knocking himself unconscious in the Alchemy lab (on more than one occasion), and attempting to break House-Elf magic. The House-Elf Teppy seemed to believe that the morning hours were enough for Harry to work on his project for his Masters in Alchemy, locking up the library and the Alchemy lab at noon everyday under the pretext that they needed cleaning—because teenaged boys made _such_ horrible messes. This had only begun after Harry had shown that he spent far too much time in the library (which he really couldn't help—he had found a lead onto his project and had spent two days in there without sleeping before the new "law" had been instigated). Harry highly suspected that Nicholas had ordered Teppy to make sure he didn't overwork himself in his Will, or something of the sort, but he couldn't help but being annoyed—respecting a dead man's wishes or not. There was only so much time he could spend practicing duelling or working on some of his basic notes for the project without access to the library and only so many books he could sneak out without being caught. Crazy House-Elf…

Luckily, he received the owl from Raken only a day after the incident at the library, including apologies from the Department of Mysteries (which hadn't appeared in the _last_ one…) and the promise of a different hiring and firing process for the library—and certainly a different policy on allowing in Mastery students.

Pleased, he made plans to visit the library sooner rather than later, but did acknowledge that he might be over working himself a _touch_. And libraries were only open for a certain amount of time during the day that he still had too much free time on his hands, without sufficient access to his labs. Free time often drove him mad, as had been witnessed by those subject to his temper and restlessness at such times.

Said free time and subsequent madness drove him to seek out Remus and Sirius more often than he probably would have, had he not been bored out of his mind and lab-less too boot. Despite his better judgment, Harry found himself there more evenings than not. Sometimes they talked about the past, splitting it evenly between the strategy of the last war with Voldemort and stories of Harry's parents. Sirius had been quite annoyed when Remus had recommended that Harry talk to Severus about Voldemort's first rise rather than them, and Harry had considered the suggestion briefly before deciding he'd do so during the school year. Instead he found himself picking through the public Ministry archives as well.

Remus and Sirius also attempted to help Harry with his attempt at becoming an Animagus, which really hadn't yielded any results as of yet. Remus wasn't sure he _had_ an Animagus form—after all, only about one percent of witches and wizards were able to become an Animagus. When Harry had asked to see the study proving this, he had promptly shut up, mumbling something about hearing it in Transfiguration years ago. Harry held little belief in Transfiguration, and, undeterred, he continued his Animagus studies more or less on his own. This came with little help from Sirius, as he was more interested in regaling Harry with stories of pranks, trying to turn him into a quintessential Gryffindor, much to Remus's amusement and Harry's dismay.

At least two afternoons a week was spent in the Flamel home in Manchester (instead of in the library), having "Constant Vigilance!" constantly yelled at him by Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody for hours on end. Moody had told Harry about Dumbledore's information regarding his true identity several days after he had found out—Harry had been knocked out cold due to an accident in the Alchemy lab for three days straight right around the time Moody had appeared in Flamel Manor to inform him of the horrible news. And then Harry had gone and knocked himself out again by foolishly deciding to duel with Moody to get rid of the anger. That was when the old ex-Auror had decided that Harry definitely needed some training up, especially using his more interesting talents.

And so Harry's summer until the last week of August was spent in a mess of research, Marauders, and dueling. A rather odd combination, but it kept him busy and at the same time allowed him to plot. He needed, above all, to be prepared.

He didn't explain to Remus and Sirius that Dumbledore knew who he was. It would create complications as the two of them still held some loyalties towards Dumbledore—though they had not been the ones to tell him, if they knew that he knew, information might be leaked more easily. It was convoluted logic, but it made sense to Harry's paranoid mind.

He wasn't only taking precautions with Remus and Sirius. He had also hired an ex-Unspeakable (though, of course, the ex-Unspeakable hadn't told him that) to further his Occlumency skills. As they were, they barely stood up against Dumbledore. He knew he had a long way to go before he would be able to keep the man out entirely without exhausting himself.

The only odd incident of the summer occurred in the beginning of August, when Harry began experiencing vision-like nightmares with a frightening frequency. They always had the same two figures—Peter Pettigrew and a grotesque snake-like baby, who he highly suspected was Voldemort himself. Unfortunately, these were the only sticking points of the dreams, as Harry could only remember a few words of what was said. The stand-outs had been words such as "Tri-Wizard," "Potter," "Azkaban," "World Cup," "Flamel," and "Malfoy." It was a combination of words that could occur in any series of sinister plots, really. Or in a combination of benevolent plots, in fact. Though Harry had to think harder to consider those.

All in all, they told him absolutely nothing. Which worried him far more than he let on. Trouble had a way of gathering and growing around the names Potter and Flamel, and he was unfortunate to carry both.

Sighing, Harry packed his trunk as the time for him to return to the prison that was Hogwarts approached. He would not be the only one of his summer acquaintances returning early; he had heard from Sirius that Remus would be teaching History now, and Moody had told him that Dumbledore had asked him to teach Defence. Dumbledore naturally believed that Moody had not remembered the incident he had Obliviated from his memory, and Moody had seen it to his advantage to return—if only as a way to get an "in" with Dumbledore.

Half-formed plans were developing in Harry's mind, most ready to be put in place at a moment's notice if need be. The next year at Hogwarts would be a dangerous one, and he knew it.

Harry still couldn't help but feel as if he were forgetting something, however.

* * *

**Early July**

"Welcome, friends," Lucius Malfoy declared with a smile that did not reach his eyes. Lucius smiling instead of snarling was a rare event; his welcoming manner similarly so. It wasn't his usual sneering manner, nor was it his usual sycophantic method.

There were twelve of them sitting around the table. All were cloaked and hooded. Only Lucius and the man sitting to his right—who he liked to cleverly think of as his right hand—knew all their identities. And for now, that is the way it would remain.

He knew what he was doing was very risky. But the Dark Lord had not returned and the mudbloods still perverted decent Wizarding society, destroying its customs and the minds of the next generation. He had worked behind the scenes for the past thirteen years to attempt to solve this problem, but he knew it couldn't be done on his own. Of course, many of the old pureblooded families agreed with him, but most were too uptight to dare to do anything about it.

The eleven in front of him were.

"I assume you all know why you're here?" Lucius continued smoothly, as if the sight of him smiling had not been something monumental.

"Oh, just get on with it already, Malfoy," one of them snarled. "Can't we hear your plans for world domination _before_ the pleasantries?"

Lucius sneered. "I did not ask you for your opinion on what we discuss—if you do not wish to hear _all_ of what I say, you may leave." He paused for a few seconds, waiting for the dissenter to get up. He did not. "Good," he commented. "I see you truly _do_ want to be here," he mocked.

"There is a reason you are all wearing cloaks and hood, why you all arrived at separate times," Lucius explained. "Your status in society—aside from the fact that you come from the noblest of blood—does not matter here. I do not care if you are a member of the Wizengamot or a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley. We are not here to undermine each other. We are here to work together to remove the parasite that is the mudblood from our society.

"If you do not believe that this is a noteworthy goal and have come because you think that this is some sort of high society _club_," he sneered, "Then I highly suggest you leave now." No one moved.

Smirking, Lucius laid out the bare minimum of his plans to those in front of him—just enough to ensure that they stayed interested, but not enough that if any of them were to betray him it would all end in disaster. He knew the chances were slim—most of the men seated at the table had been Death Eaters that had barely escaped Azkaban. The rest had not been old enough at the time, but were highly valuable and clear on their views.

He had, of course, been making connections for years now…in fact, he had attempted to form a group similar to this before. But the political climate had not been right. Now, however, was the time…It was time for those of the true blood to take back what was rightfully theirs. In the last month two mudbloods and become _Department Heads_, for Merlin's sake! Of course, they were of the less significant office, but what was next? Minister for Magic?

The taint had to be removed.

* * *

"M-master, I have returned…" quivered a voice, as it approached the back of high backed chair in the middle of a dusty sitting room. Whomever was sitting in the chair faced the fire and could not be seen.

"Wormtail," a high pitched, chilling voice began mockingly, "Did I ask you to take all day?"

"N-no, my Lord, b-but…" Wormtail stuttered in fear, his body shaking uncontrollably. He had escaped the Dementor's Kiss by confounding Fudge and pretending that it had worked for weeks, nearly a month. Then he had escaped from the ward in St. Mugno's reserved for those who had suffered from the Kiss, only to find himself in this situation.

"Did you expect me to milk Nagini myself?" the voice asked sibilantly. The tone lowered, increasing Wormtail's fear tenfold.

"Of c-course not, my Lord," Wormtail said weakly.

"_Crucio!_" the voice suddenly hissed. The chair was still not revealing its occupant, as the spell had been cast as if the one casting had no need to see. "Fool! Would you leave me to _die_, leech?"

Wormtail was held under the curse for several more minutes before it was removed. Quivering, he slowly climbed to his feet. "M-master, I have n-news," he said, when the voice said nothing at his servant's apparent recovery.

"Go on, leech, and perhaps Nagini will not eat you tonight," the voice responded eagerly, whether for the news or the chance of Wormtail being eaten by Nagini.

"I-I went to Crouch's, m-my Lord," Wormtail began. "I c-cast _Imperio_ on h-him."

"Good, Wormtail. Let us hope that your pitiful magic holds," the voice sounded pleased.

"Y-yes, master."

"What about Crouch's son?"

"H-he was n-not there, m-my Lord," Wormtail whimpered, knowing his words would earn him punishment.

The Dark Lord began hissing suddenly, causing Wormtail to quake in fear. A large snake appeared, slithering into the room from the open doorway. It's forked tongue flicked into the open air, tasting it, before retreated. It began slowly approaching Wormtail, who was backing away from the snake.

"Do not move, Wormtail. He was not there, you say? Explain." the voice said with a threat hidden behind every word.

"N-no, m-my Lord…I-I asked Crouch a-and he said that h-his son v-vanished l-last October," Wormtail said, his stuttering getting worse the closer the snake approached.

"Dead, then," the voice dismissed summarily.

Wormtail didn't dare question his logic. The last person to question the Dark Lord had been a fool Muggle and he had died within seconds. No, he knew better than that.

"I expect you to do better in future, Worm. Especially with events coming together as they should…" the voice continued silkily, pretending to be unaware of Wormtail's quivering and fearful thoughts.

"Y-yes, master," Wormtail said, bowing.

"Now, can you not see that Nagini is waiting to be milked? For your foolishness…_Crucio!_"

* * *

"Let this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix commence on the sixteenth of August, 1994 at two thirty-four pm," Albus Dumbledore called out to those assembled before him before banging a purely ceremonial gavel. Those seated at the long table before him immediately quieted.

"Official note taker for the meeting is Emmeline Vance. Subjects to be discussed are as follows; Harry Potter, Rising Death Eater activity, Security for International Events," Dumbledore continued once everyone had quieted down. Two seats to his left sat Emmeline arranging a self-dictating quill to stand on its own, as well as several sheaves of parchment.

"Back to him _again_?" sneered Severus Snape from his position next to Emmeline Vance. "Haven't we concluded the boy is probably dead by now?"

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore chided, "You know that's not true--my sensors say that he is perfectly fine. This is just a general update for you all to keep an eye out around Manchester, as I've recently found a lead there."

Severus simply sneered in response. "Fine, can I get on with my report then?"

"Patience, Severus," Dumbledore gently scolded. "And yes, you may. If you would share your findings...?"

"Nothing terribly significant, but some of my old _acquaintances_—"

"Friends, you mean," snarled Mad-Eye Moody under his breath. Severus chose to ignore him.

"—seem to have gone quiet all of a sudden. No more ranting about mudbloods, excuse me, _Muggleborns_, invading our society and the like," he sneered. "Their sudden silence leads me to believe that they have perhaps rallied under a cause. And have not seen fit to inform me, as for all intents and purposes some of them see me as a traitor."

"To which cause?" Moody once more commented irately, this time much more loudly.

"Quiet, Alastor," Snapped Dumbledore uncharacteristically. "Severus has proved his loyalty many times over."

Moody snorted, shaking his head doubtfully, but didn't comment, despite the fact that he clearly wanted to say something along the lines of "What loyalty?" and see the reaction.

"Is that all, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"It is, Headmaster."

"Thank you. Arthur?"

* * *

**Late August****—Two Days Before Hogwarts**

"I'm not quite sure what to call this discovery yet…but well, it could work wonders medically. Give witches and wizards several more years, theoretically. I've been thinking of calling it _Finis Facultas_. Well, you've got all the information there yourself to see why…" Harry rambled, a touch nervously.

"Harry, m'boy! This isn't preliminary research—it's a Master's work in itself!" exclaimed Professor Gladwin Raken in shock as his eyes read over the abstract of Harry's work. "I expected something great from you, but this by far surpasses my expectations!"

Harry didn't blush at Raken's praise, but he did offer a smile for the energetic old man. "So do you think it could earn me my Alchemy Mastery?"

Raken lowered the notebook that Harry had handed him, containing his preliminary report. "Harry, I think the Department of Mysteries will give it to you in a heartbeat. You've just broken one of the main laws of Alchemy—in two months!"

Harry tried not to look too smug. "I didn't actually intend to, sir."

"Of course not, Harry," Raken winked. He still marveled at the abstract in front of him. "A potion that can do this much, however…a vow of silence might be in order for both of us from the Department, and we both know I don't mean the one of Education."

"Well it's not much of a potion, sir. A few ingredients and lot of complex Runes and Arithmancy…and, of course, a drop of blood from the drinker."

"Still, still…" he muttered. "Oh! Where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea? I'm afraid I'll be a while reading over it so you might as well keep yourself busy with tea and perhaps a book I'm sure you have in that bag of yours."

"Sure, that'd be great professor. Thanks."

He tapped a little ornament of a ship on his desk with his wand, and with a small whoosh a tea tray appeared, complete with biscuits. "It was one of the better days when the Department came up with those…we don't bug the House-Elves and they don't bug us, at least for something as minor as tea. Sugar? Milk?"

"No sugar, thanks, and just a touch of milk," Harry replied, taking his tea as it was offered. He set it on the desk, pulling out a large volume with no title. Professor Raken merely raised his eyebrow, to which Harry shrugged and said "A bit of light reading for another project I'm considering."

"Light reading, hmm?" the professor chuckled, to which Harry gave a small smile. "Well, you get on with yours, and I'll get on with mine, shall we?"

"Of course. Oh, and professor, I think you'll like the last page. It's in essence a list of all the ways the alchemical synthesis can be modified—it kind of got away from me, in that sense. I think Healers will quite like some of it—if the Department of Mysteries lets it be published, that is," Harry added as an afterthought.

"I'll take a look at it once I've read the rest. There's only so much shock an old man like me can take. At least I can prepare myself for it if I've read the rest!" Raken commented cheerfully.

"Alright then," Harry shrugged, and pried open his book.

Despite the fact that Harry had his book open on his lap and was seated in a rather comfortable chair, he was not actually reading. He was, instead, contemplating his research and hoping it would pass muster. Even though the professor had told him that he would surely gain his Masters from his preliminary work, he was still slightly uncertain. It was possible the Department of Mysteries would just lock up his research and tell him to find another project. Or worse, imprison him for dabbling in forbidden arts.

It hadn't really started as a project to break the laws of Alchemy. He had had another project in mind for his Mastery, in fact, that had nothing to do with his final product. It was what he was reading about now, but that was another story entirely. The idea for this one had stemmed from his own frustration and difficulties at becoming an Animagus.

No, he had not created a potion to turn someone instantly into an Animagus. That would make life too easy, wouldn't it? But he had come very, very close. With several more years of research and re-working the potion, it could perhaps be done. What he had created was something that could be just as beneficial as it was dangerous.

The potion, in essence, turned the drinker into what their Animagus form would be if they chose to become one. However, there were several difficulties. The first being that for several hours the drinker would have to take the time to master the instincts of the beast, otherwise there was a risk of being trapped in the form of an animal forever if there was no one adept enough to Transfigure them back. This time varied from person to person, according to his research, and could last up to two days. After that point, chances were the drinker would be trapped in the body of the animal forever. It was also a one-time only potion. No more trying to become an Animagus after. It was the one and only time the drinker could experience being an Animagus.

Most would not see the benefit in this. What was the use in a one-time only sort of potion? But it would benefit elderly patients or terminal patients immensely. When a body changes form like that, into what is essentially themselves at their most basic and instinctive levels, something well, magical, happens. Some imperfections, within certain limits, are healed. A terminal patient would maybe have a few more years. An elderly patient would be given a few more years of their life. Both would have the chance to experience true freedom before death. The transformation back to becoming a human, specifically, done with will alone and without help (such as through Transfiguration) would have the body trying to correct itself to what the patient feels his or her body should be like, not what it actually is. It wouldn't be able to cure anything major, or restore twenty years, but it would be something.

There were also the psychological ramifications of the potion. For permanently insane patients, turning them into their basic and instinctive version of themselves would be a release and a blessing—with family consent, of course. It would be a mercy, because the animal spirit would most likely be untouched by the madness, unlike the human mind.

The most dangerous part of the potion, however, was if it were to be used on a werewolf at this stage. The werewolf would not want to change back, would not even try, because it would be its animal self. The human mind is completely drowned in the case of werewolves, because they do not co-exist. It would be possible to augment the potion for a time limit, then the werewolf would never be able to change again, but unbelievably, many werewolves would be against this as it would be a loss of their freedom, to some. Harry would have to work on the potion some more, but he felt that it was the first step in a cure that still allowed them to shape change of their own free will.

There were so many ramifications of his research…he didn't even know if he'd have time to work on the following stages. It had taken him a lot of experimentation in the form of trial and error—and more of the latter than the former—to come up with his research. He wanted to continue working on it, but as long as the Ministry kept him locked up at Hogwarts he'd have a few problems in that sense.

He was broken out of his thoughts of ways to work around the Ministry's law by Professor Raken clearing his throat. "I see what you mean, Harry. That was…marvelous. And the next steps towards creating other potions—excuse me, alchemical syntheses…Merlin!"

"Thank you, sir."

"I should think we should probably call up a representative of the Department of Mysteries before this gets out anywhere. This definitely falls under their jurisdiction," he said contemplatively, taking a sip of his tea. He then grimaced and tapped it with his wand. "Stone cold," he muttered. "Fascinating research…"

"So I won't be arrested for my research then?" Harry asked innocently. Professor Raken laughed and shook his head.

"Doubt it. Though with this Ministry…you never know. I'd have a handful of Floo Powder handy, if I were you…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** So we're clearly veering off from canon here, much more so than I think even I originally intended…--shrug--. Anyways, just a reminder that this _is _AU, meaning it doesn't have to follow canon one iota—whether Harry being adopted by the Flamels would have affected that or not. So **please** don't send me a review saying that Malfoy was never that proactive in canon—for all we know he was. Besides, guess who has the keyboard and all typing powers? Mwhahahahaha!

Anyways, lack-of-update wise…entirely my fault and such. I _have_ been ill, but a lot of it has to do with Writer's Block (yes, it earned capitals), lack of free time, and that for some strange reason procrastination fuels my writing…so now that school has started I feel like writing again. But conversely, since school has started I have a _lot_ of work (AP does that) so my time to write is limited. Don't expect a lot in the way of frequent updates—I'll do my best to try and get them out, though.

By the way, for those of you who want more information on my views on Alchemy, take a look at chapter eleven and Harry's conversation with Hermione. A lot—but not all ;)—of it is explained there.

**Betaing:**

Okay, betaing… I _had_ a beta ready to beta this chapter…back in April or a month around then. I'm afraid I have no idea if s/he is available any more. I've also received a bunch of beta offers recently. But my inbox is kind of a mess. Anyways, I hate to ask this, but if you're willing to beta and have already sent me a message, could you please message me again with why you think you'd be a good beta and such? And if you haven't messaged me, but are interested, feel free to do that too. Sorry to whoever was my old beta, but yeah…it was so long ago and I have no idea what's going on there.

_Betaing job description_: Go over my old chapters (no hurry there), go over my updates within a week of posting (preferably not as long as a week, but yeah…), and be prepared to wait about a month for updates or more…senior year and such (I think that's a requirement for all readers too…)

Thanks to all who offer!

Ta

**P.S. (Sept 17 2008)**: A lot of people have commented that Peter Pettigrew was given the Dementor's Kiss in an earlier chapter. I fully admit that as an author I made a mistake, forgot that I wrote him off, and put him back in. However, assume that Fudge is an idiot and Pettigrew escaped (as explained in the chapter). Please don't be too harsh...I haven't written in six months and Pettigrew, who I thought I thought I wouldn't need back then, I need now. The explanation, while not the best, is plausible in a world where Fudge is an idiot...and in this AU, he is one. So please don't criticise too harshly. Thanks!


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